Always the Last to Know
by Svendances
Summary: Steph has returned to Rangeman after a six year absence volunteering in Mexico... or has she? What happens when Steph fails to volunteer the whole truth? How will the men react? More importantly, how will Ranger react?
1. Prologue

_I promised myself (and Two Guns and a Knife, but that was a diffrent kind of promise) that I would start posting this story once I'd finished one of my already finished stories. Since That Froghurt Guy is just an epilogue away from completion and this story now has a title, Shreek - my partner in crime and co-conspirator - has said that I'm allowed to post the prologue._

**_Always the Last to Know_**

**Prologue**

Tension gathered along my spine as I watched the man of my dreams, my one true love, enter the restaurant and make his way through the other diners to the empty chair right beside me. I kept my gaze on him, willing him to look at me. I mean _really_ look at me. See beyond my short, red highlighted hair, grey eyes and tan skin to me, my soul, who I was beneath it all.

We'd been operating out of the same building – sometimes the same room – for the last six weeks and he hadn't spared me more than a passing glance unless he was speaking to me on a business matter. If it weren't for those brief conversations, I'd think he wasn't aware of my existence, let alone my presence.

As he sat down beside me and gestured for the waitress I forced myself to move my chair just a little closer to the man on my other side to keep myself from accidentally molesting the boss. The rest of us had been here nearly an hour already and I'd taken his absence as a sign that I could relax and enjoy myself rather than having to be on guard. Now, in my slightly intoxicated state, I was having a hard time resisting the man's allure.

Tank, who had his arm draped casually across the back of my chair, glanced down at me when my movement disrupted his comfort. With his beer glass held mid way between the table and his mouth, like he'd been about to take a sip, he asked, "You alright, Kit?"

I opened my mouth to assure him I was fine, despite the invisible vice tightening around my chest, but all that came out was a half choked squeak that managed to catch the attention of Lester and Hal across the table. There must have been a panicked expression on my face when my eyes darted toward them because they immediately jumped into action.

"The lady needs another!" Hal announced, topping up my glass.

At the same time, Lester exclaimed, "Shots! It's time for shots, right Kitten?"

"I... uh... hu... he...fa?" I stammered. I wasn't sure putting _more_ alcohol into my system was the right solution to my problem, but trying to argue with the guys as they thrust various glasses of liquid in my direction was too daunting a task to pull off in my current condition.

With a fleeting look over my shoulder to where Ranger was pouring himself a glass of what appeared to be soda water from the jug the waitress had just set down before him, I let out a small puff of air. I wasn't going to let his presence ruin my night. I came here to drink and have fun with my friends and co-workers, so that's what I was going to do.

This charade had gone on long enough as it was and the stress was getting to me. I was more than willing to leave the events of the night in the hands of the alcohol I'd been offered.

Que sera sera, as they say.

So I took the shot and downed it at the same time as the rest of the table's occupants. Almost immediately there was another in my hand, and I wasted no time in making it disappear. I imagined each tiny glass emptied as one small part of my worries leaving me, disappearing into the thin air.

I did shots various kinds, including green fairy and tequila and was feeling _extremely_ happy an hour later when I managed to eyeball the number glasses on the table. There were three each in front of the men surrounding me. I stared down at the shot glasses in my own space, counting them several times. Six. There were definitely six there. And I'd lost count of how many times my beer glass had been refilled. Was I _asking_ for the extras?

"You might want to slow down," Tank suggested, his speech slurring just slightly. "At this rate I'll have to carry you up the stairs when we get home. And I'm not sure I can get up them myself right now."

"Am I doing this?" I asked him in a loud whisper as I waved my hand haphazardly in the direction of the offending shot glasses.

Tank counted the glasses just as I had done, his finger moving to point to each one in turn as he clearly struggled to focus on them. He moved around the table, stopping when he reached Ranger. I followed his furrowed gaze to the empty space in front of the man. No shot glasses. No beer glass. Just his soda water.

He was deep in conversation with Vince, discussing something that sounded quite serious in comparison to the joyous mood that occupied the rest of the table. Tank and I were afforded a full minute of inspection without Ranger's notice before we were distracted by Lester's enthusiastic shout.

"Bar maid! Fourteen more shots for me and my friends!" he cried. I didn't even question it. There were fourteen of us at the table. Fourteen shots was the perfect number. I accepted mine, gulping it down, but when I'd finished shaking my head at the light burn down my throat I looked down at the glass in my hand to find it full again. Thinking that I'd somehow imagined the liquid sliding down my throat, that in my drunken state I'd somehow taken to hallucinating, I shrugged and downed it again. Slamming it down with the –one, two, three, four, five, six – seven other mini glasses on my section of the table.

I was no mathematician, but I was pretty sure six plus one did not equal eight. Maybe I had selective double vision.

Over the course of the evening my chair somehow managed to drift further and further away from Tank until I was almost touching Ranger. I'd obviously lost my determination to keep the distance between us and had even taken to teasing him about his refusal to drink alongside Lester, who seemed to be enjoying the disarray his fellow men had fallen into in their alcohol induced states. Slowly, the men began to drift out the door in groups of two and three, sharing cab fares as no one was sober enough to drive.

Except Ranger.

"Come on, Ranger," Lester was urging, holding a full beer glass in one hand and a shot of tequila in the other. "One drink." He waved each glass under the boss's nose eliciting a single raised eyebrow from the man. "It's not fair to the rest of us if you leave this restaurant sober as a bird and able to remember every horrible, embarrassing thing we've done."

I leaned across Ranger and wrapped my hand around the beer glass Lester was holding, drawing it to my own lips and taking a long sip. "Mmm," I moaned, licking the foam from my upper lip. "Cool and refreshing." Next, I picked up Ranger's glass of soda water, attempting to raise my eyebrow at the man in challenge.

"What are you up to Kit?" Tank asked, plopping into his seat as he returned with yet another pitcher of beer. I was surprised he was still able to walk, having surpassed my own consumption levels in the last few hours. I myself wasn't even sure I still had legs, let alone ones that would support my weight and walk around. "Isn't that the boss's soda water?"

"Mmhmm," I murmured. "I've confiscated it. If he's thirsty he'll have to take beer or a shot."

Tank easily slipped the glass from my hand and set it at the far end of the table. "He's sneaky," he explained, wrapping his arms around me and lifting me up to sit on the edge of the table with my feet propped on his lap as he took up residence in the chair I'd just been forced to vacate. "Better to move it far out of reach or he could take a sip without any of us noticing."

I picked up my half empty beer, dipping my finger into the amber liquid before drawing said finger between my lips and sucking gently.

"Oh, Kitten," Lester enthused.

I dipped my finger in again, this time extending my hand in Ranger's direction. An offering. He once again raised an eyebrow.

"Do you really want to do that, Kit?" he asked, his voice an octave lower than usual.

A small growl left my throat at hearing him call me Kit. Why couldn't he look at me a little closer? Why couldn't he see me for who I really was? I swiped my finger across his lips before sticking it back in my own mouth to clean it off.

"You know I haven't slept with anyone since the last time we were together?" I announced, frustration colouring my tone with a bitter edge.

There was a short, almost stunned silence during which all three men stared at me. Two in disbelief, one with his patented blank expression. After a long moment Lester let out a short bark of laughter and Ranger's lips twitched up like he was thinking about smiling.

"Kit Danger, I do believe you are drunk," Ranger informed me, licking his lips to get rid of the beer residue I'd left there.

I'd leaned forward to tell him more about what I'd done and hadn't done since our last bedroom encounter when Tank suddenly slammed his fist down on the table beside me. "For shit's sake, Ranger," he exclaimed in that booming voice of his. "She's Stephanie Plum. Can't you see that?"

I looked from Tank's glaring eyes to Lester's slightly confused expression and finally to Ranger. He just sat there, leant right back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at me with a challenge in his eyes. The tension I'd felt when I saw him weaving through tables when he arrived all those hours ago was suddenly back. It gripped my shoulders, forming knots in my muscles that I was sure no regular masseuse could ever get out. They would have to be the Norse God of Massage to ease that stress. The silence stretched on, hanging heavily in the air until finally raised that one eye brow yet again and laid down the challenge his expression had promised.

"Is that so?" he asked, almost menacingly.

I should probably step back and explain a little...

* * *

_So, what do you think? What's really going on here?_


	2. Chapter 1

_I should probably put one of those disclaimery things here, yeah? For a start, none of the characters are mine, I'm just using and abusing for my own (and hopefully your) pleasure. Any mistakes, however, especially those in Spanish, since I used Google for it all, are mine... or are they Google's? Nevermind. I hope the Spanish is okay cos otherwise I look like a dingbat._

**Chapter 1**: 6 months earlier

"I have a surprise for you all," I announced, setting my large tote on the desk at the front of the room. "_Una sorpresa_," I added in Spanish, just to be sure they understood. I'd been working with these kids for a couple of weeks now, teaching them English as part of a volunteer program. My method was to talk to them as much as I could in English, adding in visual cues for best understanding, and occasionally repeating things in Spanish. It was the same method I'd used in all the previous villages I'd work in for the last five and a half years.

At first it was because I knew very little Spanish and literally had no other choice, but as time passed, with my total immersion into the culture and language of the country, I became more efficient in language and no longer needed an interpreter with me 24/7. I was able to communicate more effectively with the kids on my own.

The point of the program was to provide an avenue for these kids to learn English, which would not be achieved as quickly if I were to spoon feed them everything in their mother tongue. Sometimes the moments we don't quite understand are the ones we learn from the most.

My supervisor called my method Sink or Swim English. I'd lay out my instructions in Enlgish and they would either get it, and do it – known as a swim – or stare at me blankly – sink. In the beginning stages with each group reactions leaned more toward sink, but as they grew familiar with the words, phrases and commands, they started to swim more and more.

The other technique I had discovered that produced great results was making my lessons relevant too them and their interests. That's where my surprise comes in.

I'd been struggling to engage this new bunch of kids, unable to find a common ground with them as I had with the last few groups. It was downright frustrating, not only for me, as my teaching was pretty much pointless, but also for the kids as they got bored with my lessons. The last few days, though, as I walked from the bunkhouse to the school building and vice versa I had noticed the kids – every single one of them, regardless of age or gender – engaged in a very enthusiastic game of all in soccer in the dust bowl they call a field next to the school.

My heart soared to see them enjoying themselves so much, and that they were able to play so harmoniously as a whole group, but sank the moment I caught sight of the state of their ball. It was old and tattered. Patched up in places it where it looked to have been chewed on by a dog and quite flat. There was hardly and bounce left in it.

So yesterday afternoon, I'd driven to the nearest town and bought them a new ball in preparation of the lesson I had forming in my head. I felt sure that this was going to be the first breakthrough with this group. Maybe, just maybe, I'd found the right topic to get them all engaged.

I turned to the whiteboard behind me and wrote 'ball' in even, legible letters for them all to see, before reaching into my tote and pulling out the brand new soccer ball.

"_Balón!_" a few of them exclaimed.

"_Si!_" I agreed. "But in English?" I tilted my head toward the whiteboard as a hint and waited as they sounded it out, testing the new word on their tongues. "Ball," I confirmed, once the room had erupted in exclamations of the word. "_Muy bien_! Very good. But what kind?"

Once again, the noise level rose as they all called out, and I smiled. We were finally engaging. While they were shouting, I turned and wrote a series of ball and soccer related words on the board in English, illustrating each to the best of my ability. Admittedly, my best was significantly below the level of recognisable drawing, so if they got what each word meant from my pictures alone, it would be a miracle.

I went through each word with them, demonstrating some, like 'kick', 'throw' and 'roll' and getting them to try to make their own connections based partly on knowledge that they should already have, like the parts of the body we use for each action, since we'd covered body parts within the first few lessons with them.

Afterward, I took them outside and ran them through some drills, just to make sure the words and their meanings were cemented in their heads and connected to physical actions.

"Ricky, kick to Marco," I instructed one of the boys. He did as I said and ran to the back of the line so that the next person, a seven year old girl named Catalina, could step up ready to receive the ball from Marco.

"Marco," I stated, making sure I had his full attention before going on. At fifteen years old, Marco was one of the eldest in the group I'd been charged with. Most of the older kids were quite cynical about how much good learning English would actually do for them, and therefore put very little effot in. Marco, on the other hand, seemed to hang on my every word, drinking it in like it was the air and water he needed to survive. He caught on much quicker than the others, and as such, I tried to challenge him wherever possible.

"Bounce the ball three times, then roll it to Catelina," I instructed him, watching his brow furrow slightly in thought. I knew he knew most of the words I'd used, it was just a matter of him taking a moment to recall their meaning before he acted on them.

Only a few seconds passed before he bounced the ball three times and rolled it to the young girl.

"_Bueno_," I praised, giving him a high five as he passed by me on his way to the back of the line.

Once they'd all done a few commands I turned them loose in the field to have a real game of soccer with the new ball as their reward for doing so well. I was encouraged to find that rather than automatically reverting back to Spanish the moment the game started they were shouting English words to each other amongst the more complicated Spanish instructions.

We were finally making headway.

The next morning, I was sitting on the edge of the school building's shaded porch eating an apple and watching the kids play when the ball suddenly landed in my lap, causing me to fling my piece of fruit into the dirt. When I looked up from the ball Marco was jogging toward me, an apologetic look on his face. "Lo siento!" he called before adding the English equivalent. "I am sorry!"

"It's okay," I assured him, curving my thumb and forefinger into the universal sign for okay. "It was an accident."

His brow furrowed in confusion only briefly. We hadn't covered 'accident' in our lessons yet, but the words were similar enough in both languages that he worked it out on his own.

"_Pasar_?" he asked, gesturing for me to pass the ball. I hugged it to my chest and shook my head no. "_Estefania!_" he complained. "_Pasar el balón!"_

Again, I shook my head, not willing to relinquish the ball without something in return. In this case, I wanted him to use the English words he'd learned so well the day before. I just wasn't going to tell him that. He'd work it out soon enough.

My refusal to give Marco the ball caught the attention of the other children, since their game had been halted, and they came swarming over.

"Qué pasa?" Matheus, the eldest, demanded, hands on hips as he stared between Marco and myself.

Marco explained – in Spanish – that I wouldn't give him the ball, which of course prompted an uproar from the rest. My name was shouted at me and demands and complaints whined amid it, but I held tight to the ball.

Eventually, Sofia, a shy and quiet thirteen year old, stepped right up in front of me and asked, "Pass the ball, Estefania?"

I smiled, nodded, and handed her the ball, satisfied when the other began to complain at her instead.

Sofia just shook her head and said, "En inglés, idiotas." And they all groaned.

Somehow they then coaxed me into joining the game. I had no hope in keeping up with them, especially the older boys as they did their complicated turns and passes, but it was enjoyable none the less. Even if I was sweat soaked thirty seconds in.

I was calling to one of my team mates to go left, switching between English and Spanish to make sure they understood and also providing extra learning experience for them, when I suddenly felt like I was being watched. Scanning the area around the field, I couldn't see anyone, but that did nothing to calm the nerves that had begun flitting when I felt the slight chill down my spine. My instincts were hardly ever wrong, so if I thought someone was watching me, they probably were. The question was, why?

"_Estefania!_" Maria, another of the girls, called in a disappointed tone. I glanced around to find a couple of the boys doing a victory dance. Apparently, while I'd been distracted, they had dashed past me and scored a goal. I don't know why Maria was so disappointed with me, since I probably wouldn't have been able to stop it from happening even if I _had_ been paying attention.

*o*

I was in town with a fellow volunteer, enjoying some down time before we had to get back to work tomorrow, when the nagging, almost tingling sensation returned to the back of my neck. Just over a week had passed since the soccer game and the feeling of being watched I'd experienced then. When I'd gone a few days without the awareness I'd figured my senses were out of whack for whatever reason. But now it was back.

Unwilling to just shrug it off and keep going about my day – I'd been caught in some pretty horrendous situations by ignoring my intuition – I pulled my companion out of the foot traffic on the sidewalk and up against the wall of the nearest building. She looked at me, alarmed, but said nothing as I critically scanned my surroundings for the second time in a fortnight. It seemed strange that I'd managed to go five years without a suspicious episode, and now I'd had two spaced so closely together.

Clearly someone had taken a sudden interest in me and wasn't willing to come over and introduce themselves.

I dragged my gaze slowly over the people, scrutinising faces.

"Um, Steph?" my friend prompted. "Is everything okay?"

"I feel like I'm being watched," I explained. "I'm trying to see who it is."

She nodded and looked quickly around. "I think it might be those men over there," she said after a moment.

I followed her pointing finger across the street to a group of four men crowded just outside the general store. They were all large, muscled, and so covered in dirt that I couldn't tell what colour their clothes were. It didn't really matter, though, because I recognised the immense size of one of the men in particular the moment I clapped eyes on him. He stood at least half a head above the rest, was bald headed, and dark skinned.

Tank.

Urging my friend to stay where she was or continue on to the cafe we'd been headed for, I quickly and determinedly crossed the street. As I approached the group, Tank's eyes narrowed, like he was trying to see through me, rather than just see me. Maybe he was still trying to decide if he knew me. I couldn't really blame him; I'd changed a fair bit in the last five years. Some days I didn't even recognise myself in the mirror.

"_Hay algún problema?"_ I questioned when he was within earshot. I chose to speak in Spanish to deliberately throw him off, since he was obviously still trying to work me out.

"_Lo siento," _he responded automatically, before explaining that he thought he knew me.

I grinned at him and his slightly halting use of Spanish. There was a time when he seemed – to me, at least – to be fluent in the language. Now I realised that he was on the cusp of fluidity, but probably didn't get enough practice to take it up a notch.

With a roll of my eyes I switched back to English to put an end to my own suffering. "Stephanie Plum," I said with confidence, my grin still in place. "I believe we've met before?"

His eyes widened briefly before scrutinising my appearance even harder. "Steph?" he asked. "Is that really you?"

"In the flesh," I confirmed. "What are you doing here?"

"Government mission," he said, rather off hand, like it didn't matter. "We're waiting for pick up. Just finished this morning. Enough about me. What are you doing here? What happened to your eyes? Your hair? When did you learn Spanish?"

I shook my head at the rapid fire questions from the man I'd always known as the quiet one. "Volunteering. Coloured contacts. Cut it off. Slowly over the course of my first year down here," I listed the answers to his questions in turn. He looked disappointed in my short answers, so I suggested, "I could tell you all about it over lunch, if you like. That'll give you time to get cleaned up and me time to blow off my friend."

"I'll meet you back here in an hour and a half," Tank conceded, though he made no move to leave; just stood there staring at me.

"What?" I demanded, suddenly feeling self conscious.

"Nothing," he said softly, a hint of a smile forming around his eyes. "You look good."

* * *

_Let me know what you think._


	3. Chapter 2

_I should have been writing the revelation chapter for You're Pretty Messed Up Too, but this story wouldn't get out of the way, so I had to write this chapter. Either way, I'm updating something so you can't be too angry. _

**Chapter 2**

Typically, Tank had already secured the table in the back corner of the cafe with a clear view of all entrances and exits by the time I got there. He was looking good, dressed in civilian clothing – black jeans and a soft grey t-shirt that advertised some motor oil company I was unfamiliar with. I didn't think it was possible, but the shirt hung loose from his shoulders, giving the impression that he wasn't as big as he seemed.

He stood and pulled out the chair on the adjacent side of the table as I approached, and I could tell he was once again scrutinising me closely. His gaze flitted briefly between my hair and my eyes before he shook his head slightly and took his seat at the same time I claimed my own.

"I'd almost managed to convince myself it wasn't you," he stated with no preamble. "I was almost up to believing that our encounter this morning had been a waking dream, that you were just a woman from the village who looked a lot like you." He shook his head again. "You have no idea how glad I am that my imagination isn't trying to run away with me."

I couldn't help but chuckle. For a man who never spoke, this was practically rambling. "I was only a couple minutes late," I pointed out.

"The tensest couple minutes of my life," he informed me. "Waiting to find out if I was going insane or not.

A more forceful bark of laughter suddenly escaped my chest at his words. I couldn't help it. "Just because I'm not a figment of your imagination doesn't mean you're not insane," I assured him, pouring a glass of iced tea from the pitcher on the table.

"True," he agreed, grinning. "So tell me why you're here."

"Because I made a lunch date with a random black man I caught ogling me across the street," I teased. "He seemed to think I was some woman he used to know."

Tank speared me with a half-hearted glare and I assumed he was mentally rolling his eyes. "Very funny, Stephanie."

Shrugging, I took a sip of my drink and pulled the menu closer to peruse. "I don't know what you want me to say, Tank," I said. "There are so many factors that contribute to why I am here at this table, in this cafe, in this town."

"Then we'll start right at the beginning," he suggested, peering over my shoulder to see the menu. "Why did you leave?"

The way he asked, coupled with the way we were sitting, made it seem like the topic was no big deal. He was so casual about it I could almost imagine my reply didn't really matter. That didn't make it any easier to talk about it, though.

"I don't remember," I stated flatly.

"Steph," he said in a warning tone that would suggest if I didn't start talking he would have to resort to less than pleasant interrogation techniques. So much for casual.

"Look," I tried again. "It was a long time ago. Every reason I told myself I had has changed at least a dozen times since then."

I didn't turn my head, or even glance at Tank out of the corner of my eye, but I'm pretty sure he rolled his eyes. If our positions had been reversed I would have rolled my eyes right out of my head by now.

"What was your original reason for leaving?"

A resigned sigh fell from my lips just as the waitress appeared. We placed our orders ad as she made her way to the kitchen Tank speared me with an expectant stare.

"You won't understand," I told him.

"Try me," he challenged.

Leaning right back in my chair and folding my hands on table, I met his gaze for the first time since we started this line of conversation. "I was watching Shrek," I said, dead serious. "With my nieces." I waited for his reaction, but he gave none. He was waiting for the rest of the story before he showed me what he thought. "And seeing how self sufficient Fiona was just got me to thinking about how utterly useless I was at my job."

"You weren't useless," Tank said firmly.

"You and Ranger and all the other Rangemen were constantly having to come to my rescue," I pointed out. "That practically screams useless."

"If you'd let one of us partner with you like we suggested on numerous occasions -."

"That's beside the point," I interrupted him. "I felt useless and nothing I told myself in that moment or even for the rest of the evening made it any easier to live with. I was sick and tired of being the damsel in distress, always needing help."

Tank offered me an utterly dead pan expression, so exaggerated in comparison to his usual blank face that I had to bite the inside of my lip to keep from laughing. "And rather than ask for assistance in getting training that would make you better at your job, you decided running away to Mexico was you best option?"

"You must not have heard me," I said flatly, though I still struggled to keep the smile off my face. "I said I was sick of needing help. How is asking for assistance going to make that feeling better?"

"You'd have gotten better at your job and wouldn't need as much rescuing."

I rolled my eyes and rested my elbows on the table on either side of my drink. "Long term, yes, that was probably a better option," I agreed. "But I wasn't really looking at it that way."

"Six years, three months, two weeks and five days is pretty long term if you ask me," Tank said matter-of-factly as our meals were placed in front of us. He busied himself with adding salt and other condiments to his roll while I did nothing but stare open mouthed at him. Finally, he glanced up, reaching over to gently push my jaw closed. "You'll catch flies," he said, before taking a large bite of his lunch."

"You kept count?" I asked, aghast. I couldn't believe he'd just rattled off the exact amount of time since I'd left Trenton as if it were a well known sports statistic. Had he been actively searching for me this entire time? Had Ranger? Did they have a sort of countdown thing in the office? Those _XX Days Without Incident_ signs popped into my head and I wondered if that's the kind of thing the Merry Men would put up in the control room.

"I didn't keep count," Tank said. "I just plucked some random numbers from my head. But it's definitely been at least six years."

"Oh." Why did I sound disappointed with his reply? Had I been hoping they were all obsessed with finding me to the point of keeping track of the days since I'd left? Ridiculous. Why would I want them to come find me – rescue me, you might say – when the whole reason I left was because I was sick of being rescued?

Biting into my roll, I chewed slowly and pensively as Tank practically devoured his own in three bites.

"So you decided to run away," Tank prompted, licking his fingers and swiping chilli mayonnaise off his cheek a moment later.

With a shake of my head, I corrected, "I decided to take a step back from my life. Rather than being a resource vacuum, I thought I'd try giving back to the community for a change."

"In Mexico," Tank added dryly.

"I always wanted to learn Spanish," I shrugged, taking a sip from my iced tea.

"We could have helped you with that too, you know," Tank said. "We were all really disappointed when you left without a word."

Guilt began to swirl around in my stomach, dissolve any appetite I may have had. I pushed my almost full plate away.

"When months passed and you didn't return or even make contact, and we couldn't locate you, Ranger told us to stop looking." He gulped down the remnants of his glass and set it down. "We thought you were our friend, Steph," he said with so much emotion it caused the guilt to rise up and solidify in my chest. I felt like I might suffocate from it.

A long silence stretched between us, allowing the general sounds of the cafe to the forefront. I'd almost forgotten we were surrounded by people. My focus had been solely on the fact that my past had suddenly appeared in my future and I wasn't sure how I felt about it. Hell, I was struggling to keep my wants and needs on the straight path. One minute I was saying that I was sick of being rescued and the next I was hoping that they'd been looking for me all these years. It's a good thing I wasn't drinking or things could go horribly wrong in a matter of seconds with this kind of thinking.

Before either of us could say or do anything else a ringing phone erupted close by. As I jerked up straight, Tank pulled the offending racket maker off his belt and hit receive before holding it to his ear. He listened for little more than a moment before saying, "I'll be there in five," and hanging up. As he returned the phone to his belt he gazed at me. "Will you come back to Trenton with me?" he asked. "There's a chopper coming to pick up me and my team in twenty minutes. I'm sure there'll be a spare seat."

I shook my head. I couldn't believe he was just swooping in and asking me to come back with him. I had a life here. I was doing good here. I couldn't just leave that behind. "It'll take more than twenty minutes to get back to my sleeping quarters," I informed him. "Let alone packing and getting back."

"Then just come with me now," Tank suggested. "You can get someone to pack your stuff and mail it to you. Please, Steph."

To my surprise, I found myself actually contemplating his offer. I thought I had convinced myself I was done with my old life. I didn't want or need to go back there. I was perfectly happy here, helping the less fortunate. "I can't go," I said firmly, as much for my own benefit as Tank's. "I'm just starting to connect with these kids, I'd hate to leave before knowing what their full potential is."

"You can help people back in Trenton," Tank tried.

"I committed to three months with them, Tank," I said. "I can't leave them until my session is up. They've lost enough already."

A short puff of air escaped Tank's lips, almost as if he were sighing, though I knew that couldn't be the case; Tank didn't sigh. He pulled a pen from his pocket and grabbed an unused napkin from the holder on the table. "Then keep in touch," he said, scribbling something on the napkin. "I just found you after six years and I don't want to risk losing you again. If you won't come home, Skype me. These are my details." He pushed the napkin across the table and stood. "Message me. If you don't, I'll come back and drag you home whether you're ready to go or not."

I stared at the scrap of paper. "I don't have Skype," I told him.

"Then get one," he instructed. "If I haven't heard from you in a fortnight I'll be back."

With that, he leaned down and wrapped me in his massive arms briefly before turning to leave. He'd only taken five steps before I managed to find my voice again. "Wait," I called. He turned to gaze down at me expectantly. I saw the hope in his eyes and knew that he thought I'd changed my mind about coming home with him. "Tank, you can't tell anyone you found me," I said. "If anyone at Rangeman knew where I was I'd be forced to come home and I'm not ready for that. I'll get a Skype and keep in touch, but it's just between you and me."

"Not even Ranger?" he asked, his brows drawing together.

"Especially not Ranger," I confirmed.

A tense moment passed where Tank said nothing and I was afraid he wasn't going to agree to my terms, then suddenly, he stepped forward and hugged me once more, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "Two weeks," he reminded me. And he was gone.

* * *

_So there you go, that's why she left. But when/why does she come back?_


	4. Chapter 3

_Another chapter. It took many hours of agonising over little details (which are actually not even mentioned IN the chapter), but it's finally here. Thanks to Shreek for being my sounding board (and also offering other completely ridiculous additions to other stories). _

**Chapter 3**

It was a week later as I was digging through my bag in search of the cough drop I'd seen floating around recently that I remembered about Tank's Skype threat. Of course, my memory was jolted by the napkin I found at the very bottom of my bag, where it had fallen to after being dumped in directly following our lunch date. I had had every intention of setting up an account the moment I got back to the compound, but the rush of hectic activity I'd found myself in had driven it completely from my mind until moments ago.

Leaving the cough drop for dead and ignoring the tickle in my throat, I pulled my laptop out of my bedside drawer and set it on the bed in front of me, firing it up as I dug through the drawer for my USB internet stick. It took more brain power and time than I would have thought to set up my account and enter Tank's details, but eventually I had a connection established and was staring at the little green tick beside Tank's name, trying to think of what I could possibly say to open a dialogue with him.

I'd just decided to be generic and say "Hello" when my computer made a sound and a line of text.

_Tank says: I was just looking up flight info for next week._

I rolled my eyes and typed in the first reply that came to mind.

_Steph says: I said I'd do it and I did. No need to start looking for flights before my time is up._

_Tank says: What if I found a flight for you instead?_

_Steph says: I'm not abandoning these kids._

While I waited for his reply, I went about getting ready for bed; taking out my contacts, putting in eye drops, washing my face, brushing my teeth etc. When I got back to the laptop Tank had sent three messages.

_Tank says: When does your current program end?_

_Tank says:...? _

_Tank says: Steph?_

Realising I'd taking more time than I'd thought with my night time ritual, I quickly typed an apology.

_Steph says: Sorry, was brushing my teeth. I have about three and a half months left._

_Tank says: And then you'll come back?_

The problem with my answer to that question was that I had mixed feeling about the concept. On the one hand, I would love to go back and see all the people I left behind. On the other hand, I was afraid of their reactions when they saw me. I imagined a lot of anger and hate for just up and leaving without word or a trace. There'd probably be hurt as well, just as I'd seen with Tank. Disappointment that I hadn't reached out for help from any number of the friends and family I had been surrounded by.

As well as that dilemma, there was the fact that I would be leaving behind all the hard work I could be doing for families and communities down here.

I told Tank all this, thinking that he would simply reiterate what he'd said a week ago, that I could be helping people back home just as much and that my friends and family would forgive me for leaving, but he did nothing of the sort. Instead, he sent a shrugging emoticon, followed quickly by his reply.

_Tank says: I've got four months to convince you._

We chatted a while longer, until I found myself taking longer and longer blinks and decided that if I wanted to keep the five thirty jog time I'd promised myself I would start, I should probably hit the hay.

*o*

_[Three and a Half Months Later]_

I sat cross legged on the bed in my assigned sleeping quarters amid a sprawling collection of drawings, notes and photos I had received from the kids over my time working with them. With just a week left here, I had begun my ritual of filing the gifts I'd been given. Letters, notes and drawings went in a folder for each child once I had used my scanner to make a digital copy of them. More physical gifts, such as handmade dolls, woven wraps and blankets and other such items that would not fit in a folder were photographed and included that way. At the front of each folder was a couple of photos of the child or family, along with basic information on their status when I arrived, and their progress over my volunteering with them, as well as a short descriptive paragraph of their personality and my impressions.

My supervisor thought I was crazy for keeping every single thing I was given, but I justified my actions by pointing out that a lot of these kids and families had so little that being able or willing to give someone a gift was a big deal for them. I didn't want to just throw away their hard work like it meant nothing to me, because it meant a whole heap.

I wanted to remember each and every single moment with each and every single person I encountered, but knew it was too much to wish for. So I needed to keep the mementos of my time with them as reminders. After each volunteer program finished I would box up the files and the gifts, along with my latest journal, and ship them back to a storage unit I had in the states.

I was sorting one particular file folder into chronological order when my laptop began ringing.

_Right on time, _I thought as I glanced at the clock and clicked "Answer" on the screen.

Tank and I had fallen into a routine where he would video call me every Thursday he could and we would chat and catch up. I would recant my recent exploits as teacher of English, and he would elt me know how everyone back home was going as well as any major events that had occurred.

While I tried to convince myself that I didn't want to go home and wasn't ready to be found, in reality, I lived for our Thursday Skype Nights. Don't get me wrong, I loved what I was doing and it was rewarding working with the kids and their community, but I had been six years without any kind of information on the people I had left behind. After a while I'd just forbidden myself from thinking about them to save myself from the home sickness and depression that would inevitably follow. But now that I had a link – a veritable font of information – I was addicted. I _needed_ the latest social updated.

"Hey Tank!" I greeted merrily, smiling widely at the screen and sliding a section of the papers surrounding me into the large document box on my bedside table to be sorted another time. I had a week left, after all, and I still hadn't set up where I was going after this. "How's things?"

"Busy," Tank replied on the monitor. "What about you?"

"Busy as well," I replied, holding up a thick file, literally bursting with memories.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Things the kids have given me. I'm trying to organise it all, but I keep getting side tracked."

"Reminiscing?"

"Big time," I confirmed. "So what's keeping you busy?"

Tank took a sip from a massive coffee mug before staring straight down the camera lens so that it was like he was locking eyes with me. "My own big mouth," he confessed on a sigh. "I suggested to Ranger that we expand our community support initiative. Start really giving back."

"That's a fabulous idea," I enthused, even as, in the back of my mind, I began to wonder if this was his latest scheme to try to convince me to come back to Trenton. I'd be lying if I said they weren't slowly wearing me down but I'd hardened my resolve to at least finish up here before giving into him. "What does Ranger think?"

We didn't often speak of him. Me, because if I started thinking about that particular tall, dark and handsome man of mystery I would likely be on the next plane back to the states regardless of my responsibilities down here. And Tank because, well, maybe he sensed I didn't want to go there. Or perhaps he feared that mentioning him would conjure the man and Tank's covert operation of getting me back to Trenton would be redundant, because the moment Ranger learned of my whereabouts he would come and pretty much kidnap me.

Not that I thought that was remotely possible. He'd given up looking for me within months of my disappearing act. Probably, I didn't mean a damn thing to him anymore. If I _ever_ meant something to him at all. _Entertainment_.

"Unfortunately, he loves the idea," Tank replied, distracting me from my thoughts.

"What do you mean, 'unfortunately'?" I asked incredulously. "It's an excellent idea, Rangeman could do so much for the community. You're a talented group of men with plenty to share."

"He put me in charge of it," Tank said flatly.

"So you don't really want to do extra community work?" I asked, a little disappointed in his attitude. He had a real opportunity to do good here and he was griping that he'd been given the responsibility. I would jump at the chance to head up a community initiative.

Tank shook his head and took another gulp from his bucket of a mug. "No, I want to," he assured me, in a far less than convincing tone. "I just never pictured myself heading up the sector."

"But you take control of the entire company when Ranger goes in the wind," I pointed out. _Two Ranger references in one conversation. If I wasn't careful I'd be on the next flight home._

"Running the company is one thing," Tank said. "I can do that easy. Any day of the week. Pulling together a functioning community respite centre with around the clock workers including medically trained staff, on the other hand, is a little daunting."

I rolled my eyes. Clearly he was over thinking things. I knew he could pull of complex operations at the drop of a hat, putting this together should be a breeze for him. _Could he be banging it on to lure me back to Trenton?_ "Treat it like one of your missions?" I suggested. "What's your first step?"

"Delegate tasks?" Tank said with a slight smile, letting me know he was joking. When I just stared at the screen, attempting to raise an eyebrow at him, he amended, "Figure out the goal, find a location, draw up a plan, have the boss approve it, get a team together, _then_ delegate tasks."

"Close enough," I agreed.

"Speaking of close enough," Tank said, swiftly putting on his, _I'm switching topics _voice. "You've only got a week left, is there any way I can convince you to ditch now and take over for me?"

"How many times do I have to tell you?" I said, just short of exclamation. "I'm not abandoning these kids."

"How about if you come back and join my team when you're week is up, then?" he added hopefully. "I could really use your help and the guys would love to see you."

My chest briefly constricted at the thought that _the guys_ knew anything about me to have that prior love to see me. I'd reiterated what felt like a million times over the time we'd spent Skyping that I didn't want anyone else knowing that he was in contact with me. It was fine with just Tank, but I didn't want to be pestered from all angles to come back and come back now. A girl only has so much will power.

Apparently my face was just as easy as ever to read, because he added, "Relax, Steph, I haven't told anyone." Neither of us said anything for a moment, but I noticed Tank checking something on his phone. "So will you come back?" he asked, glance back to the screen.

"I don't want you to just give me a job, Tank," I told him.

"But you're qualified for it," he assured me. "You're probably more qualified for this task than I am."

"Remember what I told you about why I left?" I reminded him. "I don't want to _be _a charity anymore."

"Okay," Tank said, nodding slightly. I could tell by the slight expression on his face that the wheels in his head were turning, trying to think of a way to get me back. I'd seen that look numerous times over the last couple of months, so I definitely knew what he was up to. "I'll see what I can do to appease you."

"Unbiased?" I prompted.

"How do you feel about applying to a board of Rangemen whom you've never met under a false identity?"

"That would never work," I told him. "My cover would be blown within minutes of getting the job."

"Probably," Tank agreed, "But you'd get the job on your skill set not your history with the company or any of it's employees."

I rolled my eyes at him. "This plan of yours is bound to fail, but I guess I'll play along. I haven't set anything up for after my times up here anyway."

"Great," he enthused, "I'll lock in this flight for you for next Sunday then."

* * *

_It's that time again. Where will Steph be next chapter? Who knows?_


	5. Chapter 4

_It's been a while, I know. And I apologise for leaving you all in the lurch, but I suddenly got sick. And then I had some stressful occurences in the region of my heart (don't worry, it's all been sorted and is under control now). But I'm back now. With a chapter. And if all goes to plan I will be updating again before long._

_ALSO! Before you get engrossed in this chapter, I need to urge you all to go read "A Plum Fairytale" by Shreek (You know, my bestie/proofreader/coworker?) It's a Plumverse take on a classic fairy tale. With a twist. And it's utterly hilarious. So seriously, check it out and review and stuff!_

**Chapter 4**

After an exhausting day of saying goodbye to all the kids and their families, and receiving many more gifts that I would need to catalogue before sending my file box to my storage unit, I got my good friend and fellow volunteer Sera to drive me to the nearest airstrip where I caught a small plane to the main airport. I was hauling my duffle bag over my should on the tarmac when a pair of strong, male hands grasped the strap, lifting it from my grip. I turned to assure whatever local that had thought to be helpful that I could handle my own luggage only to find Tank's face grinning broadly down at me.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said, bending to pick up the two document boxes at my feet like there were full of Styrofoam balls rather than the papers and gifts they actually contained.

"You didn't think I would go through with it," I accused, hitching my hold-all-handbag and laptop bag higher on my shoulder.

"Can you blame me?" he questioned. "You've been back and forth over whether or not you'll come back for six long, agonising months. I had to come and make sure you got on the plane."

"Where does Ranger think you are right now?" I asked warily.

"Visiting my sister in Philly," he replied easily, nodding his head in the direction of a waiting jet. "Not that it really matters, he's at a mandatory family function this weekend anyway."

"Aren't I supposed to check in and all that before boarding the plane?" I asked as we neared the air craft. "And that duffle bag is definitely not hand luggage."

"Relax," Tank said smoothly, handing off my duffle bag to the man waiting at the rear of the craft. "It's a private jet. We're already checked in."

My heart leapt into my throat at the mention of a private jet. "Please tell me it's not a Rangeman jet," I implored, unconsciously gripping his shirt.

With a grin, Tank adjusted his hold on my boxes into one hand and used his other to loosen my fingers until I was holding his hand instead of his shirt. "Rangeman doesn't have jets," Tank assured me, allowing a relieved breath to whoosh from between my lips before he amended, "Yet. But it does have the funds to hire a jet to deliver supplies to Mexico."

"Supplies?" I squeaked.

"Ranger's uncle has been working on and off down here for the last seven or eight years," Tank explained as we started up the steps to the plane. "Once or twice a year, Ranger sends a care package."

I could only imagine the kind of care packages Ranger would send. He didn't seem the type to send a tin of cookies, or a hand crocheted rug. Guns. Ammo. Satellite phones. Kevlar vest. USB devices containing classified information. That was more his speed. Ranger wasn't ensuring his uncle had his favourite comforts, he was making sure he had the right tools for the trade. And knowing the trade that Ranger was in, I wasn't sure I wanted to contemplate how legal it was to send the things he needed to send across the border.

I followed the flight attendant's directions to the spacious cabin and stowed my bags in the floor storage space provided next to my seat. I'd never been in a plane like this. Very luxurious. Definitely something Ranger would make a point of hiring to show off his wealth.

Tank was two steps behind me, stowing my file boxes in a similar storage container on his side of the plane. When he straightened, he held a large manila envelope in his larger, meaty hands. I knew the moment he turned toward me that it was for me.

"What is that?" I asked cautiously

"Your new identity," he informed me, holding it out and gesturing for me to take a seat once it was in my grasp. "You're gonna wanna familiarise yourself with that. Your job interview is tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred." With that he settled into his own seat, fastening his seatbelt and pulling out a pair of earphones from his pocket and inserting them into his ears. I guess the conversation was over.

With a sigh, I sat down before my knees decided to give way and belted myself in.

The envelope weighed heavily in my hands as I stared almost blankly at it. Shocked. Part of me had thought Tank was joking when he'd suggested applying for this job under a false identity, not just because it would all be for naught once the Merry Men saw me, because I felt they would recognise me immediately, but because this was me. I was probably the worst actress I had ever met. And my ability to lie was so flawed that even little kids saw through it.

"Were you planning on absorbing the information via osmosis?" Tank asked. He'd been staring straight ahead since the moment he sat down, but his question let me know that while he was giving the appearance of allowing me some privacy, his ever watchful gaze was on me... Apparently Tank can see around corners now.

I placed the packet on the empty seat beside me and turned to face the large man across the aisle. "I didn't think you were serious about this," I said earnestly.

Tank finally shifted his body to look at me, removing the ear buds from his ears with an odd expression on his face. "Of course I was serious, Steph," he said. "I've been trying to convince you to come back for months and you finally agreed when I suggested it. No way am I going back on that suggestion when it was the only thing that worked."

"I can't pull off being someone I'm not around the guys," I pointed out.

"You just have to get past the interview," he assured me. When I gave him a look he explained, "You said you wanted to earn the job fair and square, so I've organised Aaron to do all the interviews for a few days, including tomorrow."

"Who's Aaron?"

"Exactly," he grinned. "You don't know him. He doesn't know you. All you have to do is be yourself and you're guaranteed to get the job."

That seemed a bit odd. How could he guarantee that I'd get the job if someone I didn't know was doing the interview? I was sensing a plot afoot and was just about to ask what he was really up to when he spoke.

"Look, you're exactly what we're looking for. You have the work experience to work both in the community relief centre and in the field with us if we have the need. In fact, with your background you'd probably be a real asset in the field. I should remember to propose that to Ranger."

"When did you get so talkative?" I asked, ignoring the daunting prospect of using my new found skills in a setting I hadn't been in for the last six years. The word 'challenging' came to mind.

Tank gave me a weird look. "We talk all the time on Skype," he reminded me. "Why would it be any different in person?"

He had a point, of course. We'd had quite extensive discussions on Skype, some leading into debate territory, and never once had it seemed odd or strange for him to be so open and verbal. But now that we were physically in the same space, it just felt... different. Tank had always been the silent observer. The muscle. The dark shadow of intimidation cast over the street. And now he was...

With a gasp, I realised that the word I would probably use to describe Tank these days was 'friend'. Tank was a friend. A normal friend. The kind you could discuss your problems and worries with. And I know this, because I'd been doing it without realising for six months.

Rather than ask what my gasp was about, Tank gave me a smirk and returned his attention to the front of the plane as it began taxiing. "You should start on that new identity of yours," he mentioned, inserting the earphones once more. "The flight isn't as long as it seems and you need to be a different person from the moment you step off this plane."

Just like that I was more or less alone, as Tank stared straight ahead, probably not ignoring my presence, but allowing me the illusion of privacy. Knowing my luck he wasn't even listening to anything.

I waited until we were in the air before pulling down my tray and emptying the packet onto it. All the expected documents were there; resume, passport, driver's licence, brief background. But there was also a pair of eye glasses, an eyeliner pen, a mineral make up palette, and a "Get The Look" guide booklet. I puzzled over the items for a few moments before picking them up and holding them out toward Tank to get his attention.

"What's with these?" I asked, him when he turned his head in my direction.

"Take a look at your photo ID," he said rather than answer my specific question.

I rolled my eyes at him, but did as he said, opening up my new passport to discover an incredible looking woman staring back at me. There was no way anyone would believe that I am this woman. Her hair was the same cut as mine, and just as spastically curly, but it had a reddish tinge rather than having red highlights. Her eyes were grey, like mine were when I was wearing my contact lenses, and framed by rectangular glasses, but their shape was completely different. And her skin just seemed to glow. I shook my head.

"She looks nothing like me," I informed my companion.

"She _is_ you," Tank responded easily, not a shadow of doubt anywhere in his tone.

Sending Tank a dubious look, I held up the passport beside my face. "Really, Tank?" I said. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Don't dis' my sister's handiwork," he countered, reaching across the space between us and grabbing the makeup book. Opening it to the first page he held it up like one would a picture book when reading to a kindergarten class. "This is you," he informed me firmly, pointing to a picture that was, quite obviously, me. It was the photo I'd sent him two weeks ago. He turned the page. "This is you after you've put the colour rinse through your hair." Sure enough, it was the same picture with my hair red tinged. Another page turn. "This is you with the makeup contouring my sister spent hours perfecting," he explained, pointing to the right hand page where the red tinged me now had awesome glowing skin, high cheekbones and a gorgeous nose. "And this is a map of how to achieve the contouring." He turned the page again revealing the glowing, red tinged me with brilliant eyes.

"Let me guess," I interrupted, before Tank could further treat me like a child. "This is where the eyeliner comes in?" He nodded in the affirmative and handed the booklet back to me. I examined the how to page closely for a moment. "What does your sister do?" I asked.

"She's a highly acclaimed makeup artist and the photo editor for a well known women's magazine," he explained. "She also occasionally freelances for various government agencies providing photos for documents and guides like the ones you have in your hands."

"Government agencies?" I repeated, dumbfounded.

"And loving brothers who offer to babysit the monsters so she can have a girls night out," he added, a slightly sheepish grin creeping onto his face. This new side of Tank was blowing my mind.

I glanced through the booklet, spending more time on the how to side of pages, growing more nervous as I noted the amount of work that actually went into achieving this look.

"Is all this really necessary?" I asked nervously, fingering the eyeliner pen. I'd never contoured my face in my life. In fact, I usually just swiped on some mascara and lip gloss and called myself done. I'd taken an eyeliner pencil to my face once in my life and had ended up not only stabbing myself in the eye several times, but looking like a goth. There was a lot of pressure on me get this right.

"Marie swears by eyeliner," Tank assured me. "She says something as simple as a couple of lines around your eyes changes their entire shape."

I couldn't argue with that, especially with the evidence right in front of me. I flicked to the last page, where the only addition was the glasses frames. "Why did she add glasses?" I found myself asking, before I'd even acknowledged the thought. "I'm already wearing coloured contacts, isn't glasses on top of that a little over kill?"

Tank was grinning when I gazed up at him. "The glasses were my contribution," he admitted. "Its for the Clark Kent Factor."

I couldn't even voice my confusion at that point, but apparently it showed on my face, because Tank continued.

"You know, Clark Kent? Superman?" he paused, waiting for a sign of my recognition. I blinked twice. "Clark Kent wore glasses. Superman didn't. No one ever made the connection."

I rolled my eyes. "You realise that everyone watching at home knew it was Clark instantly, right?" I pointed out.

"Don't underestimate the Clark Kent Factor," he warned sternly before tossing a bottle of 'fast action, fail proof' red hair rinse in my direction. "Go get started."

* * *

_So any feedback you may want to leave is muchly appreciated. And don't forget to go read Shreek's new story!_


	6. Chapter 5

_Amazingly, I felt like writing on the way to work yesterday. And on the way home. And you know what? That commute was enough time for me to get an entire chapter finished! YAY!_

**Chapter 5**

"Looking good, Kit," Tank informed me as I stepped out of the plane's small bathroom some time later. I'd managed to make my hair more red than brown and tried to replicate the look Tank's sister had created for me to the best of my abilities. I was still focused on the body language tips I'd found in the back of the booklet while waiting for the rinse to set when Tank's words filtered through the fog of new things to think about.

"What did you call me?" I asked, blinking down at him where he sat.

"Kit," he repeated. "It's your new alias." At my blank look he shook his head ever so slightly. "Did you even bother to look past your own photo?" he asked, leaning across the aisle to retrieve the pile of papers I'd left on my seat. Pulling out my passport, he pointed to the name printed clearly in official type. _Kit Danger_.

"That's the worst name in the history bad names," I informed him seriously as I took the passport from him.

"Worse than Ophelia Balls?" Tank countered, a hint of a grin creeping into the corners of his lips. "Ivana Humpalot? Dwayne Pipes? North West?"

"Okay, fine," I sighed, struggling to keep a straight face as he listed the names. They were incredibly bad. "Kit Danger ranks fifth on the World's Worst Names list. But seriously, it's obvious it's a made up name."

"All names are made up," Tank said.

"But this one _sounds_ made up," I pointed out. "How am I supposed to pull this off?"

"With appropriate Bombshell aplomb."

And so silenced any ability I may have had to argue with the man. It was a useless notion to begin with, but it had been so long since I'd had to deal with his stubbornness in person that I felt like I should at least give it a go, history be damned.

With just those four words, he'd managed to strip away all my doubts and selfconsciousness, and reminded me that I'd dealt with much worse in the past. I just had to own this name like I would any trying situation. If I could survive being called the Bombshell Bounty Hunter and being the subject of a town wide betting pool for years then I could manage being called Kit Danger long enough to land a job. Because that's as long as it would last. I had no doubt that the moment the men laid eyes on me – the moment RANGER laid eyes on me – my cover would be blown. And besides, this was just to prove to myself that I could get the job based on my credentials rather than who I am. There was no reason for this to last any longer than the interview.

"All right," I sighed, plopping down in my chair for the remainder of the flight. "Just tell me who picked the name so I can smite them at the earliest possible opportunity."

"Marie," he said simply. "She's heard all about you and thought it was appropriate."

I scowled at the large, intimidating black man. No way would I ever dare to even _attempt_ to smite his sister. Knowing my luck the size factor ran in the family and I would end up between a rock and a hard place. Even if size wasn't hereditary, the thought of having Tank's wrath rain down upon me was enough to put me in my place. I know how I was when someone threatened _my_ family. I wasn't about to risk a military man's equivalent of angry rhino mode.

We were quiet for the rest of the flight, Tank with his head hidden behind the pages of some foreign looking newspaper, and me trying to memorise my new life. When we eventually made it to Jersey and out of the airport terminal, Tank hailed a cab – _a cab!_ Who knew the Merry Men were capable of being transported by mere mortals such as the illegal immigrants that manned these common vehicles?! – and we were off to God-only-knows-where. My only hope was that it wasn't Rangeman; I wasn't ready to fully project the Kit Danger show yet. I needed more eye make-up practice and I hadn't even _tried_ to alter my body language yet.

To my complete and utter relief, the taxi pulled to the curb in front of a two story brick house on the outskirts of town. It was small and unassuming with the standard postage stamp front yard that was more like a nature strip and absolutely no adornments on the outside. And apparently, it was Tank's.

He carried my luggage up the short path, pausing to pile it all on the small stoop before taking a key out of his pocket, unlocking the front door and gesturing for me to lead the way inside. I managed four hesitant steps past the threshold before pausing to do a slow turn, taking everything in in as much detail as I could. I don't know what I'd been expecting of Tank's home – military standard issue, in shades of black, grey and army green, perhaps? – but it certainly was not what I was confronted with.

In a way, I was reminded of my first visit to Joe's house after he'd inherited it from his aunt. The definite presence of a feminine touch was there where you assumed there would be either nothing or a distinctly masculine feel to the house. But while Joe's house still had his aunt's lace curtains hanging in the kitchen, Tank's house just felt like a home. There was nothing so obviously girly about any small detail of the decor, but you had to assume a female person had had a hand in it coming to look and feel like this. It caught me off guard, to say the least.

"Any homey touches are Marie's doings," he warned me, before I worked up the verbal dexterity to comment. "She was sick of bringing her kids to visit and spending the entire time feeling like she was trapped in a homeless shelter."

"Homeless shelter chic, huh?" I asked mildly, fingering the frame of the mirror on the wall above the side table. "Better than a crack house."

"Only marginally in my sister's opinion. Apparently she was constantly worried that my nephews would come across a knife or a gun lying around under the sofa."

"Military men don't leave weapons lying around," I said, confused.

"They do if their home looks like mine did, according to Marie. At least she felt like I might some day start to if I continued to make the same decorating decisions."

"And by decorating decisions, you mean lack thereof, right?" I grinned, teasing. "In any case, I like it. It's modern, homey, but not girly. Very zen. It suits you."

"I'll be sure to let her know you approve," he assured me, squeezing his large frame along with my possessions past me and heading for the stairs. "Why don't I show you to your room?"

"What?" The word came out more sharply that I'm proud to admit, but that's only because I wasn't ready for what I'd just heard.

"Your room," Tank repeated patiently from halfway up the stairs. "Where you'll be staying. It's this way," he added with a head nod toward the second floor landing.

"You want me to stay here?" I asked incredulously.

"For now," Tank agreed. "If you want to find your own place, that's fine, but I thought staying with me would be cheaper than a motel in the meantime."

"What about Ranger?" I questioned nervously, hurrying up the stairs as he reached the top and moved out of sight. I was worried that me staying here would reach Ranger's attention before I even made it to bed tonight.

"I don't need Ranger's permission to have house guests, Kit," Tank stated, using my fake name, which through me of. I wasn't used to hearing it, and it felt unnatural to respond to it.

"Can't you call me Steph when it's just the two of us?" I asked.

"No."

"Please? It feels weird."

"And that's exactly why I need to call you Kit right now. Yoou need to get used to it. Responding to the name Kit should be second nature to you, like you've been doing it all your life."

By now he had reached an open doorway. He stopped to the left and ushered me through before following and setting my things down by the door. The bedroom matched the rest of the house as far as I could tell. It was full of soft greys accented by occasional turquoise accessories, a lamp here, cushion there. The folded towel on the end of the bed was white and looked enticingly fluffy. It had me wondering about the bathroom. In particular, whether or not Tank had a tub. It had been months since I'd had a decent soak, and seeing that towel had be dying to submerge my body in steaming water for an hour or two.

"Across the hall," Tank said, making me think that I'd picked up my old habit of thinking out loud. That, or I'd never had a problem with keeping my thoughts inside my head at all and the Merry Men really did have ESP, because I hadn't had a problem with this in years. "Second door from the end," he added. "I think there's some bubble bath in the cupboard from last time Marie was here. She'd expect you to use it."

"I better hadn't disappoint her, then," I agreed. "But something's been bothering me."

"What?"

The way he uttered that single word spoke volumes of the kind of man he was at heart. He may come across as a hardened military man, but deep down he was a big ol' softy who would do anything to put your mind at ease. Like a teddy bear wrapped up in a grizzly bear's skin. I wouldn't dare let him know these thoughts – that was like asking for punishment – but it was clear that he thought of me as a dear friend or perhaps even a sister. It was touching, if a little scary.

"When did you master the English language?" I asked, alluding to his silent ways from my previous life as a Bounty Hunter. He'd said more today, and in the last few weeks via Skype, than he had in the entire five years I'd known him before Mexico.

Tank gave me the Rangeman equivalent of an eye roll and ruffled my newly red hair. "Go soak. I'll be in the office downstairs. Feel free to help yourself to anything you may need. _Mi casa et su casa._"

With that, he bent to scoop something out from under the desk chair, straightening to reveal an extremely fluffy cat cradled in his arms and started for the door. He paused, his wide shoulders brushing the door frames on both sides, and glanced back at me over his shoulder. "Welcome home, Steph," he said, sincerely. And he was gone.

Well, don't that just pull on a girls heart strings?

* * *

_One step closer to seeing Ranger for the first time!_


	7. Chapter 6

_Another productive day of commute writing! Yay! And because I'm excited and sleepy (simultaneously! What a combination) I'm gonna post it now, even though I usually don't post twice a day._

**Chapter 6**

Waking up in a strange bed in a different country to what I was accustomed to, and being called an entirely new name made for an interesting first few minutes of the day. And it didn't get any less interesting as it went on.

I opened my eyes to find Tank staring down at me, a coffee cup in one hand and a donut bag in the other. His blank face was firmly in place, but there were little tension lines around his eye and mouth, making me uneasy, especially after his openness yesterday.

"You need to get up," Tank commanded, stepping away from the bed and taking his peace offerings with him.

I could recognise a lure when I saw one, but that wasn't going to be enough to get me moving so early in the morning. Stretching my arms over my head, I let out a wide yawn, feeling very much like a cat as I did so. What I wouldn't give for another hour of sleep. "I didn't realise that staying here would mean keeping boot camp hours," I moaned, draping an arm over my arms as my body relaxed once more.

"Kit, we don't have much time."

The urgency in his tone had me out of bed before I'd even registered his words. Did I need to throw on joggers and run? Should I high tail it to the basement panic room Tank had shown me during the house tour yesterday? I didn't get a chance to ask these important questions of my host before he handed me the donut bag and set the mug on the desk across the room.

"I have some bad news," Tank announced as I took my first bit of donut.

A groan filtered out my throat. "You couldn't have allowed me one moment of sugary bliss before dropping a bomb like that?" I lamented around a full mouth.

"Ranger has taken over the interviewing process for this new position," Tank informed me quickly, ignoring my protests. I forced myself to swallow my mouthful, but suddenly I wasn't hungry anymore. If Ranger is taking charge, my chances of pulling this off just plummeted from slim to oh-my-God-why-are-you-even-bothering. He was bound to see straight through my make-up and my act. He'd know it was me before I even sat down.

Good bye, hopes of gaining this job fair and square. Hello, pity party of one.

"This is a disaster," I breathed, my voice trembling almost as much as my knees. I wasn't ready to face Ranger. He'd want explanations, reasons. I was going to have to tell him everything. He'd be angry and disappointed, but he'd give me the job anyway, because I need it and that's the kind of thing he does. I was one step away from being a charity case all over again.

"Breathe," Tank coaxed, sound far away as he urged me to sit on the side of the bed, tucking my head between my knees and applying gentle pressure to the back of my neck. Just like Ranger used to.

Lordy, my thoughts weren't helping calm me down at all.

"Slow, deep breaths," Tank reminded me. I tried to follow his instructions as he continued speaking, assuring me that it would be all right. Easy for him to say, he wasn't about to face his demise this morning...

Or maybe he was...

If Ranger saw through my act, which, let's face it, there's a one thousand percent chance of that happening, then the fact that Tank had instigated the whole plan would be out before I could count to ten. How would Ranger react to finding out his second in command had known where I was for the last six months and not told him? Would his crime be punishable by death? Or wold the fact that he'd managed to get me to come back overshadow Ranger's anger? Would Ranger even be happy to see me? Maybe he'd written me off all those years ago when he'd ordered the men to stop looking for me. Maybe I was better off dead. Was it too late to hop on a plane back to Mexico and join Sera at the next volunteer camp? Could I go back to helping kids in need and pretend I'd never come home in the first place?

"We can still do this," Tank assured me, apparently oblivious to the chaos inside my head. "You're here now, and Ranger is expecting to interview Kit Danger for the position ofcommunity affairs officer in two hours. Pull yourself together, strap on your big girl panties and get your head in the game. So what id Ranger recognises you? You're Kit Danger. Nothing can bring you down."

"I'd believe that a whole lot more if it weren't for the fact that Ranger probably doesn't ever want to see me again after the way I ditched town without a word six years ago," I told him, straightening from his hold. "Is there even any point in keeping up the Kit Danger pretence? Why don't I just wash this dye out of my hair, swipe on a few coats of mascara and waltz right onto the command floor?"

"Can I tell you a secret?" Tank asked, sitting down beside me and leaning down to pet Geraldine as she rubbed up against his black cargos. It was a wonder she didn't leave any cat hair behind to marr his immaculate, bad ass uniform.

"If you profess a deep seated longing to deceive Ranger, I promise you I will scream."

Tank was silent long enough that I found it within myself to drag my gaze away from the adorable little white fluff ball sitting on Tank's combat boot, all the way back to his face where I found a most peculiar expression. As I stared into his eyes for an extended moment, realisation and horror struck at the exact same instant.

"No," I breathed, unsure if I was denying him out right, or pleading with him not to go there.

"You have to admit, it would be an epic feat if we could pull it off," Tank pointed out.

"But we can't," I said. "It's impossible. And besides, it wouldn't be WE. It would be ME. Which lessens the chances of success significantly."

"I thought you'd changed," Tank said, sadness tinging his tone. "I thought you'd finally gotten past the insecurities left over from your childhood."

"What can I say?" I shrugged. "You can take the girl out of the Burg, but the tainted confidence will be with her forever."

"Then it's a good thing Kit Danger didn't grow up in the Burg."

I stared at him, horrified anew. He really was suggesting we try pull one over on the Great Ranger Manoso! "You can't be serious," I gasped.

"I believe you promised you would scream," Tank reminded me lightly.

"I lied. I won't do it."

"You won't scream?"

"I won't scream. I won't do the interview. I won't pretend to be Kit Danger. I won't do it."

Tank glanced at his watch, apparently having tuned me out, and stood. "I have to go if I want to be on time for my shift and avoid suspicion," he explained on his way to the door. "I'll be keeping an eye on the monitors for when you turn up. Don't disappoint me."

"Ranger used to say I never disappoint," I said without thinking.

"I know," Tank said over his shoulder. "I'm counting on that being true." And he was gone.

In her owner's absence, Geraldine jumped up onto the bed beside me and began rubbing her head against my arm. Absently stroking the cat, I listened to the sounds of Tank leaving. It wasn't until the sounds of the SUV backing out of the driveway were a distant memory that I found the energy to walk across the room to where Tank had left the coffee. I'd drink it, eat the donut and _then_ figure out what to do about this Ranger deceiving plan Tank had in his head, I decided. It definitely wasn't part of what I'd agreed to when he convinced me to come back, and I honestly didn't think we'd – _I'd_ – last longer than it took Ranger to first catch sight of me.

I pinned my hair up and took longer in the shower than I'd intended because I got lost in thought imagining Ranger's reaction when I walked into his office. By the time I'd wrapped a towel around my body and fixed my hair I only had an hour left before Tank and Ranger were expecting me – Kit Danger – at Rangeman, and in that time I still had to make myself look and feel like Kit, and make my way there. It wouldn't be such a problem, except I was still arguing the pros and cons of going through with this cockamamie plan.

Pro – See Ranger again.

Con – Have to explain the whole sad story of why I left.

Pro – Possible have a steady income if Ranger agrees to give me a job after all.

Con – Ranger will probably end up giving me a job out of pity.

Pro – Helping Rangeman help the community.

Con – Dealing with the sad looks from the Merry Men when they ask why I didn't come to them for help six years ago.

It all kept circling around in my head until finally, I found myself in Tank's front hall with my bag hitched over my shoulder, ready to face the music. One way or another, I was going to that interview as Kit Danger and I was going to do my damnedest to act confident and qualified. Fake it 'til you make it, and what not.

Nodding affirmatively to myself, I gave Geraldine one last thankful pet where she sat on the side table by the door. It was then that I noticed the envelope addressed to me (Kit). Inside was a set of car keys and a short note.

_White rental in the back alley. No excuse for being late._

I took the keys and made my way down the hall to the back door, slipping out and trotting down the path in my low heeled pumps, tugging down the skirt of the teal form fitting business dress I'd found in the cupboard of the room I'd been allocated. I don't know if Tank planted it there of his own accord, or if his sister had something to do with it, but I loved it. I could never wear something like this with my blue eyes, for fear of it clashing with the vibrant colour, but with grey I could pull it off with ease. It even looked okay with my new red hair. Go figure.

I slid behind the wheel of the non descript, white sedan and sat there for a long moment wondering once again if I was making the right decision. Should I just go back inside and hide out until I could find a flight out of the country? I glanced on the time displayed on my phone. Now or never.

Turning the key, I made the split second decision to just do it. I had to have faith in my abilities. Tank had faith in me, so I could too.

Fifteen minutes later I was parked across the street from Rangeman, repeating the argument I'd had with myself several times over the course of the last two hours. Would I do this? _Should_ I do this? _Could_ I do this? Finally, I goaded myself into it by imagining how awesome it would feel to one up the un-one-up-able. If I could pull the wool over Ranger's eyes even briefly, I'd go down in the history books as miracle worker.

Taking a deep breath, I fluffed my hair and slipped from the car, tugging my dress back down again and adjusting the clear lenses perched on my nose. Kit Danger, experienced community worker, was as ready for action as she'd ever be.

* * *

_Hands up if you want to see more of Tank and Geraldine._


	8. Chapter 7

_Between painting, and paper mache, I managed to write a chapter! Yay! Thanks to Shreek for letting me know that I wasn't going too over the top when I had doubts and also for encouraging me to be... not mean... but... well, yes. Mean. I apologise in advance but the muse and Shreek said to do it._

**Chapter 7**

I couldn't believe I was back here, standing in front of this building. Not a lot had changed as far as I could tell from the outside, but that didn't mean I was about to step into familiar territory. In fact, despite the familiarity of the location, I had a feeling everything else I encountered would be strange to me. For all the years I was gone, whenever I thought of Rangeman I'd envisioned it just the way I'd left it. No new guys; the existing guys never aging or changing. I expected them to greet me with the openness awarded to those merely coming in to work for another day in a long line of days. When I eventually revealed myself, that is. No way would they react like that to a stranger. The point was, I'd imagined the entire town as some kind of living time capsule.

In reality, I knew that nothing would be as I left it. Things change every day. People age. They get sick, injured. They change careers. They move away. They learn. They grow. Life didn't just sit on the shelf gathering dust until you get back to it. It carried on.

What really drove this point home was every time I thought about my family, in particular my nieces. They were two, nine and eleven when we sat in my apartment watching Shrek the night I made my fateful realisation. Now, as I stared at the little plaque on the door of Rangeman lobby, I couldn't help but think that Angie would be seventeen, which is far too close to eighteen for my liking. She'd be off to college soon, but all I pictured when I thought of her was the way her eyes lit up every time she entered my her grandparents living room to find her grandfather in his chair. She loved to talk to him, and even though I'm pretty sure he was never truly listening, he grunted and made noises in the appropriate places so it kept her happy for hours. It reminded me of my own childhood.

But I wasn't a child anymore. And even more shocking to me, neither was Angie. Probably, she knew that things can't stay the same and that sometimes in order to move forward you had to bite the bullet and do things you never thought you could ever do.

Like deceiving the people who used to be their friends.

No. That was not a necessary act. What I was about to do was purely for my own selfishness. My own stupid convictions that I need to earn what is given to me. I couldn't deal with being indebted to others, so I was masquerading as a red haired, community outreach worker with a ridiculous name. Worse yet, I was actually going through with it. I had no choice, because just as I'd worked up the courage to step away from the door, intending to return to my rental car, it opened and an unfamiliar man dressed in standard Rangeman black stepped out.

"Ms. Danger?" he asked.

"That's me," I confirmed, while inwardly cringing.

"Ranger is waiting."

"Of course," I said, though I'm not sure why. "I was just-."

"Psyching yourself out?" the man suggested.

"Something like that," I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose to stave off the headache I could feel building.

"He's not as hard and calloused as the media portrays him," he informed me in a useless gesture, because everyone knew that he was, in fact, _more_ hard and calloused than the media portrayed. He used to have a soft spot for Stephanie Plum, but for all I know he'd vowed never to hire another woman when she left out of the blue. (Listen to me! I'm thinking in third person now! This deception farce was already doing my head in!).

"Are you coming?" the man asked, still holding the door open for me.

Fluffing my hair one last time, I nodded shortly, and followed him into the lobby. This was it. The end of my life as I knew it. Stephanie Plum was gone. In her place stood Kit Danger. And I had a feeling if Kit Danger had to exist very long she'd have mental difficulties.

Pushing those thoughts aside as the unknown Merry Man paused at the elevator (note to self, stop referring to them as the Merry Men, even in your head, you have a tendency to spill thoughts from your mouth, remember?), I squared my shoulders and plastered a serene smile on my face. It felt foreign to my facial muscles, and I doubts that I could keep it there very long at this point in time, but I'd made the decision on the drive over here that if I was going to do this, I was going all the way. Every decision I made would be considered in a "What would Kit Danger do?" context. Which, when it came down to it, was more of a "What would Stephanie Plum do?" and then do the opposite.

Usually, Stephanie Plum would be biting her lip and wringing her hands right now, so Kit Danger was playing cool, calm and collected. If only I could tell that to my armpits.

The elevator arrived and I stepped in, expecting my escort to do the same, but instead, he leaned in and pressed the button for level five and stood back. At my obviously confused look, he explained, "Someone will be waiting to escort you to Ranger's office." And I was alone once more.

But not quite.

In the back of my mind I was aware that there were two security cameras in this little box and they were both trained on me. With someone watching from the control room. I couldn't let them know that I knew, though, so I looked around curiously, noting that it was exactly the same as when I'd last been in here – probably because I was the only one that ever used the elevator and no one had even thought about updating it – before digging through my hold all bag for my the lipstick Tank's sister had provided. I used the reflective surface of the doors to apply a fresh coat of matches-my-hair red lip stain and silently mused how different it felt to be fixing my appearance in this small space, instead of death glaring the cameras while trying to ignore the garbage juice trickling down my back.

Just as I was tucking the lipstick away, the elevator stopped and I had to fight back a moment of panic, wondering _who_ would be waiting to escort me. Something told me I would be perfecting a version of the blank face these men loved so much if I had to keep at this Kit thing. Not that I would, because Ranger was sure to recognise me the moment I stepped into his office. If not before. Maybe he's been watching the camera feed and has already recognised me. Would I be relieved? It depends on his reaction.

This morning couldn't be over soon enough. I just needed to present myself and deal with his reactions, whatever they may be, and then go home and quite probably cry the afternoon away. I wonder if Tank had any chocolate in his fridge.

_No! _Stop it! Kit Danger is a fierce, competent woman who doesn't care what people think. Especially not ex-military men who own first class security companies that she's never met.

The doors opened as I was reasserting my serene smile. I felt like I was in a beauty pageant and this was my "I'm so happy to be here" face. I decided right then and there, that that was how I would conduct myself. With the serene poise of successful beauty pageant contestant. Straight back, slow gestures, pretty smiles. It would take a lot of concentration, but if you work at something long enough it becomes second nature. After all, they say it only takes twenty one days to form a habit. Hopefully I would have to be Kit Danger that long, but I could do with some new habits.

"You must be Ms. Danger," a pleasant voice interrupted my thoughts. It was male, as I'd expected, given my current location, and I blinked up at the face that accompanied it, finding myself staring with a slackened jaw. Cal. I almost didn't recognise him, with the dark brown hair flopping over his forehead and obscuring half the flames coming from the skull tattooed there. Probably, I was lucky he looked different, otherwise I'd have been caught _not_ staring at his tattoo, which would put the security specialist in him on edge, because really, who wouldn't stare at such an obvious mark when first meeting this guy?

"Uh, yeah," I finally managed to utter. So much for beauty pageant contestant. Pretty sure they have better verbal skills than that when faced with a surprise. "Please, call me Kit," I forced out, mentally breathing a sigh of relief when the words didn't tremble like they wanted to.

"Cal," he reciprocated, extending a hand for me to shake. "Unfortunately, Ranger has just been called away to deal with an emergency. It shouldn't take more than twenty minutes. We hope you have the time to wait. If not, we can reschedule for this afternoon."

His verbal eloquence surprised me. I never really thought of Cal as a talker. Had that changed in the last six years? Or had I never spent enough time around the man to realise how normal he was despite his job and his outer appearance? "Oh," I found myself saying. "The man downstairs said Mr. Ranger was waiting for me."

"Just Ranger, ma'am," Cal corrected. "And he was waiting, however, just as you entered the elevator an emergency call came through requiring his attention. We're sorry for the inconvenience. Would you be happy to wait?"

"Of course," I confirmed, still astounded by the vocabulary on this man.

"If you'll follow me, I'll show you to a conference room," Cal responded easily, stepping out of my line of vision and allowing me my first view of the control room. At once both familiar and strange to me, I could see the small changes that had been made over the years. The monitors were more modern. Men walked from one cubicle to another carrying iPads. The walls had been painted. The make shift cubicle walls replaced with sturdier versions of their past selves.

I felt sure, if I walked along the first row of cubicles I'd find Lester, Bobby, Hal and a few of the other men I knew from before I left slaving away at their background searches and take down records. Would they recognise me? Cal didn't seem to know who I was. I didn't know if I was happy or sad about that, but I apparently had twenty minutes to mull it over before the big boss returned and everything was blown wide open.

* * *

_I promise Ranger will turn up next chapter. He shall not be permanently detained._


	9. Chapter 8

_Sooooo tired. I had half of this chapter done last night after the work commute and ended up finishing the rest of it this morning at the shopping centre waiting between my shifts. Now, I am suuuuuper ready for bed, but before I go, here's the chapter. You can thank Two Guns and a Knife for pestering me non stop for it._

**Chapter 8**

According to the Centre for Disease Control's fast stats, the leading cause of death in the United States is heart disease. I'm no medical expert, but I was going to assume that includes spontaneous heart failure brought on by undue stress. I'd been sitting in this conference room for a little over ten minutes and my heart had been racing the entire time. A couple of times, when I'd heard voices directly outside the door, it had skipped a beat as my brain assumed it was Ranger, about to enter and call me on all the shit I was trying to pull.

Now, as I watched the seconds tick by on the screen of the iPhone Tank had provided me with, it was as if my heart was gearing up for one last hurrah. Any second now, Ranger would open that door and my heart would burst right through my rib cage, ending my life and this torment simultaneously.

How the FBI managed to live through situations like this every day, I had no idea. Probably, they had specialist training that made them immune to stress. I wonder how good that must feel.

Thankfully, Rangeman was always, and still is, perfectly climate controlled, so that where I would normally be sweating bullets, the most my body could manage was moist palms. Better get that under control before I had to shake anyone's hand.

Finally, eighteen minutes after Cal had shown me to the room, offering tea, coffee and water, the door opened and I was automatically on my feet. Somehow, my heart managed to stay in my chest. I suspect it was due to the fact that the man framed in the doorway was definitely not Ranger.

"Can I help you?" I asked nervously, wiping my hands on my dress as I stared into the green eyes of one Lester Santos. Is it possible that Ranger called from his emergency and is getting Lester to do the interview instead?

"Ranger is ready for you now," Lester said, stepping to the side of the door and gesturing for me to leave. There was no emotion in his face or voice, no recognition in his eyes. Was my disguise really that good? When I looked in the mirror I still saw me. Was that because I was looking harder than everyone else? Or maybe because I had the advantage of knowing that it was still me underneath all this fakery. Either way, two Rangemen had failed to realise who I really was. Would Ranger be as easily fooled?

As I gathered my things and made my way around the table toward Lester, I found myself asking, "What happened to the other man?" I paused, scratching my neck as I pretended to try remember his name. "The one with the, uh..." I glanced up at him through my lashes, pointing to my tattoo free forehead. "You know?"

"Cal's shift ended five minutes ago," Lester informed me efficiently, indicating that I should lead the way from the room. "I'm his replacement."

"His shift ended at quarter past eight in the morning?" I couldn't help it, I'd never heard of such a thing, even back in my pre- Mexico days.

"We keep odd hours here, ma'am," he said as he pulled the door closed behind us. "You won't have to worry about that, though."

Brows furrowing in a mixture of indignation and confusion, I demanded, "What do you mean by that?"

"I don't expect we'll be needing you too work the odd hours," Lester explained mildly, without explaining anything at all. I'd never seen him like this. Where was my happy-go-lucky, inappropriate Lester? The one who joked all the time and hit on every girl he met? What had the last six years done to this man? I'd have to be sure to ask Tank some more insistent questions later.

"Why wouldn't I get the odd hours?" I questioned, refusing to move from my spot until I got to the bottom of this. "Because I'm applying for the community liaison position? Because let me tell you, helping the community isn't just a nine to five job. People need assistance every minute of the day. I'm willing to work grave yard shift if it means keeping people fed and clothed and off the streets."

"Someone will definitely be manning the centre after hours when we eventually get it up and running," Lester agreed. "But I wouldn't count on it being you."

"Because I'm a woman?" I asked, anger seeping into my tone. I know Lester had been known to make the odd sexist comment, but never like this. It was like he'd undergone a complete personality transplant in my absence. I don't think I like this new Lester I was currently faced with.

"That's exactly it," Lester confirmed, blank face firmly in place.

"That's sexist!" I exclaimed, though the shock that hit me fair in the chest had my voice barely above a whisper.

"It's the odds," Lester countered. "They're stacked against you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"We don't hire women."

I'm pretty sure my chin hit the well kept, industrial carpet at that statement. My efforts to maintain an air of decorum had flown out the window when this conversation started. "Then why even give me an opportunity for an interview?" I asked, feeling rather shell shocked by this new side of Lester. "Why not put on the ad, _"women need not apply?"_

Lester met my fake grey eyes with his genuine green ones. They seemed to glow with the hint of an emotion I couldn't pin down. "We're an equal opportunity company," he said more gently than he had previously spoken. "We just don't hire women."

I shook my head, red curls hitting me in the face. "That makes no sense."

"I never said it did."

"You're digging yourself a hole here," I informed him.

"Look, we just never end up hiring women, okay?"

"Never?" I asked, knowing for a fact that it wasn't true.

"Not usually," he amended, more of that emotion shining through. Had I hurt the men more than I realised when I left?

"But not never," I pushed, receiving a single raised eyebrow for my comment. Puffing myself up with the false confidence I'd been relying on all morning, I challenged, "Twenty bucks says I'm hired today."

"You can leave your money with the receptionist in the lobby," Lester said, sounding more like his old self. "No come on, Ranger doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"But it's okay for him to do the same to me," I muttered under my breath, following Lester down the hall toward Ranger's domain.

He stopped abruptly, three feet from our destination, turning to face me with a very familiar gleam in his eye. Now this was the Lester I knew and loved. "Make sure you let the guy on reception know that the money is for Lester Santos," he said, before rapping swiftly on the door and pushing it open. "Feel free to leave your number along with it." Leaning only slightly closer to the door, he called, "Kit Danger is here," and sauntered off down the hall.

I barely had time to draw a breath before I was face to face with the one and only Ricardo Carlos Manoso, ex-merc, Cuban sex god and owner of Rangeman Security. Dear God, he hadn't aged a day! His face was unlined and just as tan as it was six years ago. His hair was shorter, but still on the long side, brushing the tops of his ears. He was dressed as what could only be described as Corporate Ranger in black slacks, a crisp white business shirt, left open at the neck, sans tie and rolled up his forearms, and shiny black shoes. I'd have swooned if it weren't for the fact that my brain was yelling at me to pull my eyes back to his face and say something.

"Kit Danger," I blurted, thrusting my hand in his direction as I snapped my head up. _Gee, so eloquent, Steph._ No. Kit. My name is Kit. Kit, Kit, Kit, Kit, Kit. Kiiiiiiit. And now I sound insane, good thing I've master the art of not saying what I'm thinking. "You must be Mr. Ranger."

"Nice to meet you Ms. Danger."

"That rhymes," I further blurted. "Maybe you should just call me Kit."

"And you should call me Ranger," he replied smoothly.

"Of course," I agreed.

What else could I do? It was clear he didn't recognise me. There was no spark in his eyes, no hint of any kind of expression or emotion. His posture seemed relaxed, but I could still sense the ever present tension in his bones from across the small space between us. Like a tightly coiled spring ready to be loosed at a moment's notice.

"Come in and take a seat," he requested in that way he had of making it feel that you had a choice in the matter, but at the same time he would force you into it if you didn't do as he said. Can't say I missed that one. He stepped to the side and used the same gesture Lester had used to usher me through. "Min is the over sized, incredibly comfy and intimidating looking one behind the desk," he pointed out as I scooted past him. "But feel free to take any of the others."

Ranger humour. Was that a sign? Had I missed something in his body language? I glanced over my shoulder, trying to gauge his reactions now that we were behind closed doors, but there was nothing to be gauged as he silently crossed the office and settled behind the desk. I quickly followed suit, folding myself as elegantly as I possibly could without practicing, into one of the two visitor's chair across from him.

With the massive desk and a few extra inches of empty space between us it felt like he was miles away. Like perhaps we would be conducting the interview from opposite ends of the football field.

To be honest, the distance helped.

Six years ago, Ranger would constantly be inside my personal space bubble when he was around, making it had more me to have coherent, independent thoughts, but with the six feet of desk and dead air separating us, I was able to maintain some semblance of the self I had become down in Mexico.

"_It says here you are fluent in Spanish_," Ranger began, glancing down at the file laid out on his desk. I hadn't noticed it sitting there before he drew my attention apart from noting the great expanse of room between us, I hadn't bothered to take in the room at all. My every fibre was dedicated to analysing each little move he made, looking for signs that he was merely playing with me by pretending he didn't recognise me.

And that's how I failed to notice that he'd asked the question in Spanish until I was already halfway thought replying, also in Spanish. "I wouldn't say fluent exactly. But I do okay."

"You were teach English to under privileged kids down in Mexico?" Ranger asked, switching back to English. "That must have been rewarding."

"It was," I agreed enthusiastically, crossing one leg over the other and tugging my dress down yet again so as not to give him a show. "Watching and helping young minds grasp a new language that can help them better the outlook of their villages in the long run is very fulfilling," I explained. "But it wasn't just children. We worked with entire communities, teaching them fundamental skills not only in the English language, but in whatever else we could think og that would help them. And also providing much needed resources and care."

"How long were you volunteering in Mexico?" he asked, his eyes glued to the print out of my resume. I wasn't sure if it was my version with a different name, or if it was a fake one that Tank put together for me, but I was pretty sure he already knew the answer to his question.

I wasn't sure I wanted to say it out loud, because what if my answer made him realise who I was and he ordered me to get out? I don't think I could live with his rejection, even if I did deserve it for ditching out. But I had my reasons. If I had to it all again, I'd probably make the same decisions.

"Kit?" he prompted.

I had to suppress a cringe, hearing my false name on his lips. Despite all the emotions bottled up inside, I really wanted him to just look at me, see me for who I was and then just be relieved that I was back. Not ask questions or be hurt. Just be grateful and pull me into his big, strong arms.

"Around six years, I think," I admitted, staring at his hands resting loosely on the desk. I knew he was looking at me, cataloguing my every move, but I couldn't meet his gaze right now. If our eyes caught he would see through my act for sure, and I'd promised Tank I would give it my best shot.

And wasn't that my main problem right there? I'd skipped town six years ago to regain control of my life, helped people in need nearly every day I was gone, and now, before I'd even touched down on American soil, I'd handed over the reigns once more. I had allowed Tank to manipulate me into this farce and now I was paying for it with anxiety, sweaty palms and paranoia. And who knew how long I would have to keep this up?

"What made you decide to come back?"

I didn't even need to think about my answer to that one. It was obvious in my mind. "An old friend convinced me it was time," I replied honestly.

"Tell me what qualities you have that make you the perfect person for Rangeman's new community outreach centre," Ranger requested, not even acknowledging my reply to his previous question. This was getting unnerving.

"Uh..." I uttered, before remembering that Kit Danger had better verbal skills than that. "I'm generally very self sufficient," I began. "Able to work alone or in a group situation. I can handle myself reasonably well in high stress and conflict situations."

"Would you be willing to train with and carry a gun?" he questioned, interrupting my list of qualities.

"It's a little counter-productive to have a community worker wielding a gun, don't you think?" I pointed out, rather than voice my lack of love for fire arms.

"My company has a reputation that precedes it in the Trenton area, as I'm sure you're already aware. We're known for being ruthless and sometimes brutal in our protection and apprehensions. I can't risk our enemies – for want of a better word – targeting you purely because you work for the company and you not being prepared. It is mandatory that all employees carry and can shoot a gun. Self defence training is also a must, unless you can provide details of any prior training you've had in the field."

Deep down, I knew that this was just Ranger being Ranger and covering his and the company's ass while also asserting what he felt was best for the situation, but I couldn't help but think it was over doing it a little. Sure, some people who walked in off the streets were bound to be rough around the edges, but would I really need a gun?

"If that is company policy then I guess I'll have to agree to it, but I think you'll find that having a gun carrying community relief worker is just asking for trouble."

"Better safe than sorry, Ms. Danger."

"Of course."

"At this stage the building where the relief centre will be located is under renovation, upgrading plumbing and wiring, et cetera. In the meant time you job would be organising furnishings and other equipment required for the day to day running of the shelter as well as working with a team of men to plan out the logistics and convene with other community programs in the city. Does that sound like something you could see yourself doing?"

"Absolutely," I confirmed, sitting up a little straighter and meeting his gaze more fully. "I'd be happy to assist in whatever way you see fit."

"Well then, Kit," he stated, rising from his oversized, comfy and intimidating looking chair and coming around to stand in front of me. "I'd like to offer you a trial shift this afternoon, just to see how you fit in with the men. Come in around two this afternoon. I'll have Aaron show you around and then you can meet the team you'll potentially be working with."

Extending his hand for another shake, he flashed me his two hundred watt grin and I almost let out a little sob as my heart lurched in my chest. This morning had been so topsy turvey between Cal's hair. Lester's attitude and Ranger's inability to recognise me that this small, familiar, friendly gesture almost broke me.

"Th-thank you so much for this opportunity," I enthused, still struggling with the extra activity in my chest.

"I'll have Tank show you out and give you the forms you need to fill in," Ranger explained as I gathered my things and followed him back to the door. Without glancing back or saying another word, he opened the door and stepped out, crossing the hall with his efficient clip and knocked sharply on the door thee. A moment later, Tank stepped out and with a brief, silent exchange between the two men, I was smoothly handed over to the large man's care.

"Tank," Tank introduced himself, extending a hand as Ranger returned to his lair. "You must be -."

"How does everyone here know my name?" I interrupted, a furrow creasing my brow as I shook yet another hand.

"It's not every day we consider female candidates, Ms. Danger," Tank explained, taking my elbow to guide me down the hall. I didn't have to fake my hesitance when he first made contact. He may be a friend, but we rarely made physical contact. Part of me assumed that he tried to avoid it because of his sheer size. On twitch of his wrist and he could probably break the arm he currently held so gently.

He led me past the main control centre, grabbed a packet of forms from a file cabinet I never would have noticed, and headed for the elevator.

As we stepped inside the small box that was magically waiting for us when arrived I murmured, "Thanks," hoping that he understood that I wasn't referring to the paperwork. As much as I'd dreaded coming back I could see now that it was the best choice. If I stayed away much longer I probably would have never gotten the courage to come back on my own and be among my friends again. And even though they didn't know it was me, I was grateful to be able to see them for myself. Hopefully this afternoon I'd get to see even more of them.

* * *

_Thank you, and good night._


	10. Chapter 9

_I was going to tell you all something, but then I remembered that I couldn't, because it would potentially ruin a plot twist. And now all I have in my head is a song from Dr. Horrible's Sing-along Blog stuck in my head... Anyway, here's the new chapter! Yay!_

**Chapter 9**

"So that's pretty much it in the main building," Aaron wrapped up as we stepped onto the elevator once more. He'd spent the last hour or so showing me around Rangeman, pointing out all the important bits that I should know about and introducing me to the men in charge of those particular sections of the company – most of which I already knew, but had to pretend to not know for the sake of my cover.

Not a lot had changed in the six years I'd been gone. Different men were manning different areas, but that was to be expected. From what I understood, Rangeman had a six month rotational management of all the general aspects of the building, such as the gun range, the gym and the main office. This was so that anyone could step in and take over if there was a need. For example, if someone was injured and put on desk duty. You can't be expected to lug equipment around if you're on crutches.

"I'd take you over to show you the relief centre across the street, but they're in the middle of some big structural changes at the moment, so it will have to wait until it's more safe," Aaron explained, pressing the button for the fifth floor. "Besides, there's a meeting we're expected to be at in ten minutes."

It had been interesting discussing the company with Aaron. He seemed to know what was going on in every sector, like he was a cover-all guy, used to subbing in for others, so he'd taken it upon himself to keep up to date on all things Rangeman, no matter how seemingly insignificant. Clearly, he wasn't all that new to the company, but in my view, he would definitely be classed in the newbie section simply because he hadn't been here six years ago... at least not to my knowledge. I had never really been given the official tour before, nor had I been introduced to all the men. Mostly I just knew the ones that Ranger sent to rescue me.

"How long have you been working here?" I asked, curiously. I may be personifying Kit Danger, but there was still the Stephanie Plum need to fill silences in my blood.

"About six years," he replied efficiently. Like always, everything these men was efficient. They didn't waste breath on beating around the bush and being unsure. "Why do you ask?"

I shrugged and adjusted my temporary name badge. I'd been trying to think of a way to ask him about the effects of my – Stephanie Plum – leaving since I'd arrived and this was the best I could come up with. "I was just wondering about something someone said this morning," I mentioned. When he stayed quiet I took that as my cue to continue. It was just like old times with the Merry Men. "Lester Sa... Sandos? San..."

"Santos," Aaron provided, needlessly. I knew who I was talking about, and I knew his last name. But Kit didn't. I had to make sure I didn't appear to remember everyone's names right off the bat, unless I could come up with a reason I was so good at name memory. "But it doesn't matter. There's only one Lester here," he added.

"Brilliant," I enthused. "So, Lester was saying this morning that you don't hire women." I paused, thinking of how best to ask the question that had been on my mind. "I was just wondering how true that was, and why."

Aaron actually looked like he was thinking about it for a moment as we stepped off the elevator and headed down the hall to the conference rooms. "I don't think we've ever employed a woman apart from Ella," he said, a frown creasing his brow. "At least not while I've been here."

"So I'd be the first?"

"To my knowledge, yes," Aaron confirmed.

"Lester made it seem like maybe there had been other women but it didn't end well."

"You'll have to ask one of the more senior guys about that," he said with a shrug as we reached the same conference room I'd been tortured to death with impatience this morning. "I can only tell you what I know."

I gave him a calculating look. "I thought you were aware of everything that went on around here." I entered the conference room ahead of him and plonked myself down in one of the chairs around the table.

He retrieved a file folder from an end table at the edge of the room and sat across from me, flipping it open and resting his elbows on the table before spearing me. "I know _most_ of what goes on around here. Now and in the last six years. I can only pry into the past so much before the other guys begin suspecting me of espionage."

"Right," I agreed. I could see how that kind of thing would happen. The men always vigilant and if someone started asking more questions than usual, they would definitely be keeping a closer eye on that person, just to be on the safe side. "So who do you suggest I ask? I don't exactly know who's senior and who's not."

At that moment, I felt a presence behind me. I wanted Aaron to answer my question and give me free range to interrogate someone else, but he'd already transferred his attention to the man in the doorway. Just as I began turning in my chair to find out who was behind me, four men entered and promptly chose seats. They all swivelled in their chairs so that they had a clear view of the door. It was a familiar action, I realised. They used to do it all the time. I just never took that much notice of it. Not surprising, since I was constantly being told to be more aware of my surroundings.

Speaking of being aware of my surroundings.

"Hal, you look like shit," Aaron announced, catching me off guard.

I spun my chair so I could see the men who'd just sat down more clearly and realised there were two familiar faces. Hank and Hal. Hank looked pretty much the same as when I'd last seen him, but Hal, really did look terrible. I was glad Aaron drew attention to it so I didn't have to sit here wondering what had happened in his life to make him look so worn. It was helpful to know that he didn't always look like that.

"Richie has the flu," Hal yawned, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I was up with him all night."

_Who's Richie?_ I wanted to ask, but feared butting. After all, it was my first day.

"Eww," Aaron uttered, pushing his chair back from the table in an apparent effort to create as much distance between himself and the haggard looking man next to me as possible. "Stay away."

"Har, har," Hal said sarcastically beginning to situate his things on the table in front of him. "My son is sick. Not me." Well, that solved that question.

"You could be a carrier," Aaron pointed out. He had pulled the neck of his black t-shirt up to cover his nose and mouth, like boys did in middle school when someone farted in class.

I rolled my eyes. This guy was less mature than Lester. Apparently, though, Hal was used to dealing with him, because he simply raised an eyebrow at him. It was the kind of look I imagined he'd give his son when he suspected him of lying or stretching the truth. Oh my God, it just hit me! Hal's a Daddy! It was a real struggle to keep the grin off my face as I pictured Hal playing soccer with a smaller version of himself in a typical 'Burg backyard. And sitting up with him when he's sick! Staying in character as Kit was going to be a lot harder than I'd thought, I realised, squashing the sudden urge to hug the man beside me.

"Seriously," Aaron said, drawing my attention back reality. "I don't have time for the flu. Get down the other end."

"You'll be fine," Hal assured him, abruptly turning his attention to the iPad he had in his hands. It seemed like the end of the discussion, so I was expecting someone to just start talking about whatever the hell we were supposed to be talking about.

Boy was I wrong.

"You heard the man," Tank's booming voice came from the doorway as he entered. "Nobody has time for the flu. You're banished to the far end of the table."

"Oh, come on," I said, breaking my silence for the first time since the men had entered. I just couldn't stand the thought of this man who'd helped me out of so many binds in the past, being punished simply because his son – still feels weird to think about it! – was sick and he'd been loving enough to take care of him. "Is that really necessary?"

Tank speared me with meaningful look. "It's your first day," he said. "Do you really want to go to the boss asking for time off when you've barely started?"

I thought about it for a moment, picturing Ranger's reaction to the weak woman needing time to deal with being sick. Probably, I wanted to avoid that. "Good point," I agreed, sliding my chair slightly away from Hal. "I'm Kit, by the way. I'd offer you a hand shake, but I don't want to come in contact with the germs clinging to you."

Hal cast me a stony expression, before glancing across the table to Aaron, then to the head of the table where Tank was settling himself. "Everyone's a comedian," he muttered, scooping up his things and trudging past Hank and two empty seats to the spot at the foot of the table.

Once Hal was settled, leaning lethargically on his hand with his elbow propped on the surface, Hank leaned across the empty chair now separating us and whispered, "I think you'll fit in fine here."

Somehow, that one assurance prompted the men on the other side of the table into a discussion of something that I didn't quite catch. They were talking so fast that their lips were nothing more than a blur and he words coming out of their mouths – if you could call them words – sounded like a constant buzz, occasionally interrupted by the noise you made when you waggled your finger between your lips and just vocalise. I'd learned to keep up with some fast talkers down in Mexico, both in English and Spanish, but this put those speedy tongues to shame. I almost wished they were speaking Spanish. I was much better at keeping up with fast Spanish than fast English.

All I could do was look on in awe.

"Is that even English?" I asked Hank with a nod to the three men who appeared to be laughing at something they may or may not have said.

"Somewhat," Hank confirmed. "Aaron and Darren invented their own kind of shorthand language. They say it's more efficient when they're in the field. Recently they've begun teaching Mal."

"Right," Tank said, gaining control of the room with that one word. "I know it sounds very middle school, but since Kit is new, we're going to go around the room and introduce ourselves. Name. Background. Specialisation. Important details. I'm sure you've all been there before. I'll start." He paused to make sure we were all listening, which was ridiculous, because no one would dare not pay attention while Tank is talking. "The name is Tank. _Only_ Tank," he added, with an eye dagger in Aaron's direction. "I was a Ranger in the army. My specialties are intimidation, hand to hand combat and tactical warfare. I'm second in command at Rangeman."

"And he likes cats," Hal added, from his germ bubble a million miles down the table.

"Don't make me call Bobby and get you put in quarantine," Tank threatened.

"Who's Bobby?" I asked.

"Company medic," Hank explained. "But he's not important. I'm Hank. I have a masters in engineering. Ten years in the military. I do a lot of tech support when I'm in the building, which is a lot more often since I've been put on this project."

I nodded, sensing he was done, and turned my gaze to Hal at the other end of the table.

"Hal," he said simply. "But you knew that already. Happily married with two kids. Richie is five and Julian is two. I have a navy background. My specialties are-"

"Snot wiping and vomit bucket disinfecting," the next guy around the table interrupted. "Nobody's interested, old man. I'm Mal. Military background, blah blah blah. Specialise in supernatural, but I also have a thing for fire."

Aaaand that was enough for me from Mal. I abruptly turned my attention to the man I deduced must be Darren. "Darren, what about you?" I asked, hoping he had something to wipe Mal from my mind. "Let me guess, you were in the military?"

"Actually no," Darren said, leaning back in his chair. "Ranger caught me breaking and entering and converted me to the light side. Apparently he'd been keeping tabs on me for a while and thought I would be an asset to his company. Who would have thought that I'd be an upstanding member of the community? Anyway, I'm on this team 'cos I spent half my childhood in homeless shelters and relief centres. Tank thinks I can give some much needed insight into what people need and stuff."

"And you've already heard Aaron's life story," Tank ended the meet and greet section of our meeting. "What about you, Kit?"

I know I should have been prepared for the tables to turn, but in my head I found myself repeating their names over and over. There was something about the combination that struck me as odd. "You all have rhyming names," I blurted, forgetting my Kit-Danger-doesn't-blurt-things-out-randomly policy. "Tank and Hank. Hal and Mal. Aaron and Darren." I looked to Tank. "Was that planned? Cos if it was, I demand to have a rhyming buddy."

* * *

_Stay tuned for more... just as soon as I've slept... and figured out where to go next... and written it... _


	11. Chapter 10

_Told my mother that I couldn't do [whatever it was that she wanted me to do] because I had approximately 2800 words to type up and post before I passed out tonight. Turns out that my estimate of my hand written words from the last two days, was exactly right, because it was EXACTLY 2800 words. When I informed my mother she said it was creepy. And I'm okay with that. You should be too, because it means you have a new update!_

**Chapter 10**

The meeting lasted little more than twenty minutes once we got the introductions out of the way. Really, all that happened was an overview of what had been done to the building so far to make it fit for its new purpose, what would be happening in the coming days and weeks, and where we were on organising everything else to do with the centre, which wasn't much. The official side of thins was covered, permits attained, proposals lodged, correspondence with council members and other community respite centres around Trenton begun in order to raise awareness of the coming addition. As for equipment and other important things like the type and amount of care we would be providing, things were very much up in the air.

As the men were winding down the meeting, debating the merits of meeting again in the morning or leaving it until Wednesday, or possibly next week. I snagged a sheet of paper from the yellow legal pad Hank had resting beside his iPad, and started a list. I wasn't sure exactly what kind of facilities Tank and Ranger had in mind, but I had some ideas for what we could include. I was so absorbed by listing possibilities that I didn't even notice that the men had left until Tank was clicking his fingers in front of my face.

"Hmm?" I hmmed, looking up from my page.

"How was that?" Tank asked, peering down at me and my barely legible list. "Handle it okay?"

"Fine," I assured him. "I'm just a bit concerned about Aaron, Darren and Mal. Mal in particular. Are they always like that?"

"Pretty much," he nodded. "They're misfits around the office, but give them an order and you bet your bottom dollar they'll carry it out to the letter. Darren is especially conscientious, being one of the few employees without military training. It took him a while to fall into line, but we've disciplined him, and despite never having been formally trained, he has some very useful skills."

I nodded my understanding, laying down my pen. "And Mal," I started. "Is he really..."

"That kid is a wild card. To be honest he's on probation. Ranger gave him an opportunity because he's Junior's cousin's step nephew. Junior had to beg for this one last chance for the guy last week. If Mal puts so much as a tow out of line, he's gone."

"So is he the prankster sort? Or the doesn't-recognise-when-the-limit-has-been-reached sort?"

"Put it this way," Tank said, running a hand over his bald head. "Don't mention the possibility of a zombie apocalypse anywhere in the building or around the guys, especially within earshot of Mal."

"He tried to instigate an action plan, didn't he?" I questioned, the task of organising the relief centre all but driven from my mind. "How long has he managed to stay here?"

"Two months," he said gravely, "We're hoping that by putting him on this community centre project he'll realise that some people have more immediate problems than the possibility of zombies taking over earth and eating everyone's brains."

"I can understand why," I said, glancing down at my list. "So what do I do now? I assume I need to jump through some more hoops before I'm officially on board the Rangeman train. This is just a trial shift, after all."

"That's really just a formality. Ranger wouldn't give anyone a trial shift unless he was certain they were the right man for the job."

"Or woman," I corrected. I'd already had to deal with sexism from one Merry Man today, and he hadn't gotten away with it, I wasn't about to let things slide now.

Tank nodded, and there was a twinkle in his eye, but he said nothing. Moments like these made me wish I had ESP so I could know what was going on inside his head. I wasn't about to ask about it now, in case someone walked in on us and my cover was blown, but it was a very mischievous glint that I was unused to seeing there. I made a mental note to ask about it later tonight when we weren't surrounded by cameras and men with the hearing of a dog.

"I should show you to your cubicle so you can get started on that proposal," he finally said, gesturing to my list as he stood and tucked his iPad mini into his cargo pocket. I wonder what else he kept in there?

"Proposal?" I asked, confused. "It's just a list of ideas."

"Yes," Tank agreed. "and they're very good ideas. Exactly what we need. So you're going to write up a proposal and submit it to me, following all the official channels and protocols like you remember from business school," he spelled it out for me. "I'm sure you can knock it over in an hour. If not you can get back to it after you're meeting with Ella. I expect it in my inbox by the time I sit down at my desk tomorrow morning so I can go over it before my meeting with Ranger at nine."

*o*

I was sat on Tank's sofa in my pyjamas, browsing dismal housing options online with Geraldine curled against my thigh when I heard a key in the lock, followed by a couple of clomping footsteps, a pair of boots being kicked off and shoved under the side table and socked feet continuing down the hall. It was almost eight o'clock, so I'd been home for about two and a half hours at this point. My host, however, had been called to a break in as I was leaving work and was just now getting in.

"There's a meatball sub in the kitchen if you want it," I called out. I'd had a hankering for a Pino's sub by the time I'd finished my proposal, so I'd called in a to go order and picked them up on my way home.

Appearing in public as Kit Danger for the first time had made me almost as nervous as my interview with Ranger. My palms were slippery on the wheel as I steered deftly through the streets I'd learned to drive on until I reached the parking lot of the Burg's best pizza place. I parked in the darkest corner of the lot and gave myself a nice little pep talk as I made my way to the entrance. I'd finally managed to convince myself that no one would be paying any attention to me, so it should be a piece of cake to just walk in, pay for my food and leave when I spotted a group of off-duty cops I knew through the window. Amongst them were Eddie, Carl, Big Dog and none other than Joseph Morelli.

He looked okay. Healthy, at least. His hair was too long, just like always, and there looked to be about three days of beard shadowing his jaw. That was all I noticed in the brief inspection I allowed myself as I passed by three tables away on my way to the counter. If I stared too long or hard he was bound to notice. And any close inspection could lead to my discovery. If the Trenton Police Department knew it was me, it would only be a matter of minutes before it was all over the Burg. And once the Burg knew, _everyone_ knew.

The aim of the game was to fly under the radar, so I kept my gaze on the counter until I'd reached it and received my food, then I did an about face and focused on the door.

In the car on the way to Tank's place I'd congratulated myself on a job well done while trying not to hyperventilate. This Kit Danger act was already doing my head in and it was still only day one.

"You did good today," Tank informed me, taking a large bit of the sub I'd left for him as he plonked down beside me. "Only blurted a few things in your nervous state. The guys will just chalk that up to getting used to all the testosterone in the air. And as you settle into your role things will get easier."

I nodded my understanding, but remained silent, allowing him to finish his dinner before I bombarded him with all the questions spinning through my head. In the meantime, I fiddled with Geraldine's ears and stared blankly at the screen of my laptop.

Finally, Tank scrunched up his sub wrapper and tossed it onto the coffee table, wiping his hands on his cargoes to remove left over grease from his fingers. The entire combination was something I'd never witnessed him, or any of the Merry Men do before. On the slob scale, this was way off the charts in terms of Rangeman employee standards. They never seemed to get dirty or dishevelled unless there was a mishap while they were coming to my aid.

While I was distracted, reconciling another new side to Tank, he scooped the fluffy cat off the cushion between us and settled her in his lap instead.

"Go ahead and ask your question," he prompted, stroking Geraldine in long, languid motions that made me think that having her around was about more than simply liking cats. Caring for her required a certain amount of gentleness that few would think Tank capable of. And watching the day's tension slowly leave his body with each stroke, I thought that maybe the repetitive action, coupled with the purring it invoked in the cat, was soothing. Clearly the two had loving relationship; something I'd never achieved with Rex.

_Don't think about Rex,_ I told myself, firmly. _That will only bring unwelcome thoughts of other aspects of your past life. _I couldn't afford to get emotional right now. I was being given a free ticket to the answers I'd been wondering about all day.

But where to start?

I thought back over my encounters with various men and before I knew it, I'd blurted a bunch of words that in no way resembled a question. "Hal's a daddy!" I exclaimed, bouncing myself into a cross legged position on the sofa cushion. I was now facing Tank, but he was facing the coffee table, still petting his cat. "That's so exciting! Richie and Julian. They must be great kids."

"They are," Tank assured me, a slight smile on his lips. "But that wasn't a question."

I gave him a wicked grin when he turned his head toward me. "Oh, don't worry," I said. "I have plenty of questions."

He raised an eyebrow, which I thought was Tanke-ese for, "Bring it on."

"Who's the mother? What's she like? How did they meet? How long? What are the chances of me meeting her and the kids?"

A chuckle slid smoothly from his chest before he managed to answer each of my questions in the order I asked them, and with enough detail to satisfy even my curiosity.

Apparently, Hal hooked up with a lovely girl named Eloise. She was the receptionist at a local medical centre where Hal frequently ended up after a shift with me. After I left and Hal pretty much stopped going to the clinic, they'd randomly bumped into each other on the street and Hal worked up the courage to ask her on a date. Clearly they hit it off, because they were married within three months and a family nine months after that. Ella would occasionally babysit the boys for them if they were absolutely desperate, but they were always contained to Ella and Louis's apartment on the sixth floor so that they didn't get in the way. If I was lucky enough, I might be able to catch them arriving or leaving.

"Next topic," Tank said once he'd finished explaining and I was done rubbing my hands together gleefully.

"I'll take Lester Santos for two- hundred, thanks, Alex," I announced, pretending to be a contestant on Jeopardy.

Tank blinked at me, but I couldn't tell if I'd confused him with my reference, or if he was simply waiting for my question. I'd just decided it would be best for both of us if I just moved on when he said, "That's what she said."

Now it was my turn to blink. "Did you just make a '_That's what she said_' joke?" I squeaked, unable to believe my ears.

"I was testing it out," he admitted with a shrug.

"And how did it feel?"

"Honestly?" he asked, his hand going still, submerged in Geraldine's thick fur. "I kind of want to go have a hot shower and scour the crawling feeling off my skin."

"Best leave those comments to Lester then," I suggestion. "And speaking of which, what's with his attitude?"

His eyes twitched like he was stopping himself from blinking in confusion again, but he asked, "What attitude?"

"He was really quite sexist this morning," I explained, slumping so that my elbows rested on my knees.

"That's Lester," Tank reminded me.

I shook my head thinking back to the Lester I knew before I left. Sure, he made the odd remark that could be taken the wrong way and perceived as sexist, but it had never been as blatant or as scathing as he was this morning. "This was a different kind of sexist," I informed him. "He pretty much said I shouldn't be there because Rangeman was a man's company. No girls allowed."

"Ranger hasn't even considered a woman's application to the company since you left, and he'd never hired one before you came along in the first place. That he gave Kit the job is a conundrum to us all. Lester was probably just trying to warn you not to get your hopes up."

"I thought you said I was a shoe in," I accused, crossing my arms over my chest. "You guaranteed I'd get the job."

"Rule number one: always tell them what they want to hear, regardless of reality," Tank recited. "If I told you there was a very large possibility that you would not only fail the interview but also bomb out playing a different person, would you have agreed to the plan?" he asked, allowing Geraldine to stretch up and rub her face against his stubble free jaw.

"No," I said firmly, "I barely agreed to the plan as it was."

"Exactly. I said what I had to in order to get you to come home willingly. If you'd said no, I would have gathered a team and carried out a routine extraction."

The thought of Tank and his band of men extraction me forcibly from Mexico sent chills up my spine but they were quickly drowned out by a multitude of other feelings. First was a warmth spreading through my belly as I realised that I really was home. At least, I was in the town where I'd last _felt_ like it was home. Currently it felt more like an alien planet, and the reason for this was the situation I'd allowed Tank to put me in. If I had just sucked it up and agreed to come back as myself and face the life and people I'd left behind, I wouldn't be in this anxious and confused state right now.

I couldn't even say why I'd agreed only after Tank had offered the secret identity option. Perhaps I subconsciously figured that Ranger and everyone would recognise me right off the bat anyway and the secret identity would allow a cushioned barrier between me and all the disappointment and hurt I'd caused in them. Now that it appeared I was unrecognisable as my own self, however, I could see that it was an idiotic plan from the get go.

Calling it all off was out of the question though. Between the fear of their disappointment that I'd left, and that of the manner in which I'd returned I was pretty much ready to leave Stephanie Plum on the side of the road and commit to being Kit Danger for the rest of my life just so I didn't have to see the hurt in their eyes when they found out who I really was.

"This sucks hardcore," I announced on a groan, leaning back over the sofa's armrest to silently resent every decision I'd ever made that lead to me sitting here on the couch with Tank. Tears burned behind my eyes and I decided to retreat to my room before they decided to spill over. I still had questions about the guys and what had happed to cause the changes I'd noticed today, but I didn't have the energy to ask them anymore and I refused to cry in front of show-no-emotion Tank.

* * *

_Steph's struggling with some feels at the moment, while she's sleeping it off, I will too. Hope you liked it._


	12. Chapter 11

_I can't believe had easily this is all flowing out of me at the moment. I haven't written this much in such a short time in ages. Probably since last November. Anyway, here's some words. I hope they provide some insight._

**Chapter 11**

Tank had already been gone an hour by the time I emerged from a fitful sleep the next morning. I'd been plagued all night by dreams of a million different scenarios of how I could be exposed and how the Rangemen would react. None of them were all that pleasant, and one even involved a medical procedure that saw me laying buck naked on one of Bobby's examination tables while a handful of men gathered to gawk at me.

Needless to say, I yawned my way through my shower and breakfast, and managed to poke myself in the eye twice with the eyeliner pencil as I drew on what I'd realised was the equivalent of half a mask, the other half being the glasses Tank had insisted on. Between that, my contact lenses and the red hair pluming around my face, I felt like I was hiding in plain sight. Despite my tired state, the fine lines of my eyeliner turned out much better than they had the previous day. It just goes to show that practice makes perfect. Not that it was anywhere near perfect yet, but it was a major improvement on what I'd managed in the plane. And I was happy with the way it turned out.

Dressed in a dark grey pants suit with a pale pink blouse, I made my way out the back door, being sure to pet Geraldine goodbye as I passed her, and down to my rental where I'd parked in the ally the previous evening. Tank hadn't given any specific instructions regarding my parking, but I figured it was best if I didn't announce my presence by leaving it in the driveway. Tank may not live in the Burg, but people were still bound to talk. And what if one of the men drove by during the night and saw it parked there? I had no doubt that they had all committed every minor detail of the car – especially the license plate – to memory with just one cursory glance in the garage.

The last thing I needed was Tank being accused of sleeping with Rangeman's newest recruit, whom also happened to be the only female employee apart from Ella. Not only would it mar his reputation, it would cast me as a slut. And that was something I definitely wanted to avoid. The back ally hosted less traffic, so as far as I was concerned, it was the safest bet.

I drove the fifteen minutes to Haywood and waved to the camera so that the men on monitor duty would let me into the garage. Tank said that I'd probably be able to pick up my security pass and key fob sometime this afternoon, but until then I was at the mercy of the monitor guys. Lucky for me I'd most likely be staying in the building today.

Unbuckling my seatbelt, I checked my reflection in the rear view mirror, touched up my subtle pink lipstick and slid from the vehicle. As I adjusted my shirt and jacket, I wished that I could have added another layer of mascara, but such actions were a dead give-away that I was who I really am. Kit Danger didn't need to rely on a flimsy barrier of coated lashes. Kit Danger had confidence up the wazoo. Kit Danger was fearless.

I hoped.

When I reached my cubicle – the same cubicle I'd occasionally occupied in my previous life as an unskilled, fairly useless bounty hunter – there was a suitbag hanging from the partition wall and a neatly folded pile of clothes next to the keyboard on the desk. On top was a hand written note.

_Let me know if you require anything else – Ella._

It appeared Ella had covered all the bases, including gym wear, corporate wear, and day to day wear. It was, of course, predominantly black, the only pop of colour of my hair. _How did she manage that?_

I set the clothing and note aside, still pondering Ella's skill, and powered up my computer, logging into the company email account that had been assigned to me. There were two items in my inbox. The first was Tank, acknowledging that he had received my proposal. The second appeared to be my schedule for the day: An hour in the gun range with Cal at nine-thirty. Two hours with Lester in the gym – gee, that was going to be fun. A meeting with Tank after lunch, and at some point today, I was required to catch up with Bobby so he could obtain an up to date medical history. I should have studied the notes Tank had provided on Kit's life background, I realised, just in case I was asked questions that I couldn't give the truthful answer to if I wanted to maintain my cover.

Too late now, I'd have to wing it and hop for the best.

In the absence of anything else to do, I spent fifteen minutes sifting through the contents of my desk drawers, familiarising myself with the location of standard office equipment I would no doubt be needing in the near future. Knowing where everything is kept is the first step toward efficiency. If I could maintain a level of efficiency within my cubicle, maybe it would spread to the rest of my life. Like my handbag, perhaps.

Once I had my desk organised, I made my way toward the elevator. I slowed my approach as I neared the metal doors, trying to adopt an uncertain body language and expression. The task wasn't nearly as difficult as I had perceived since even if I didn't manage it deliberately, I was uncertain enough about my acting abilities that it must have come across in the way I held myself.

Next thing I knew, Cal was beside me, a hand on my elbow as he gestured to the elevator. "Going down?" he asked in a rather gentlemanly manner. His attitude toward Kit-me, as I had suddenly started referring to myself, while at the complete opposite end of the spectrum to Lester's, was just as shocking.

My memories of Cal weren't as plentiful as those I held of other Rangemen, but they were clear enough that the man that currently stood beside me threw me off balance. Pre-Mexico Cal was large, intimidating, silent, imposing, hardened, bald, and a whole host of other adjectives, all of which I was struggling to reconcile with this floppy haired, personable man.

"I can't quite remember," I admitted, which, of course was a lie, but I had to act like I'd never been in this building before yesterday. A normal person would struggle to retain all the information that had been shoved into my head yesterday. It was natural for a newbie to be lost. "What floor is the gun range on?"

"It's in the basement," he informed me easily. "Just stick with me. We don't want you wandering the halls like a little lost lamb."

"Thanks," I said as he removed his hand from my arm. I hadn't realised until my shoulders relaxed after his hand was gone, but I'd gone stock still the moment he made contact. Surely he had noticed something like that. Forcing a smile as I hit the call button, I said, "It's... um... Cal, isn't it?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he confirmed.

"Please, it's Kit. Ma'am makes me feel old."

He simply nodded, stepping into the open elevator. I followed him in and we rode down in silence, Cal staring at the mirrored door with a mind that was probably as zen as a bonsai garden. I, on the other hand, was staring at his obscured forehead tattoo with a million and one questions running through my head. It was only by a great internal effort that I managed to not spill any of them.

When we entered the – empty – gun range, Cal turned to face me, an appraising look in his eye.

"You ever fired a gun before?" he asked, watching my face intently.

_Several times,_ I thought. _I once shot a man dead._ Probably not the type of thing a community aide worker would admit to, so instead I settled for, "Once or twice."

"Ever been on a gun range?"

The last time I was on a gun range, Ranger was showing me how to use my very first gun. Probably, I should have scheduled in a few follow up sessions to ensure the safety of myself and others, but it just wasn't something that tickled my fancy. I didn't like guns back then. Still didn't. Voluntarily going to a range and practicing a skill that was used to injure and kill others had never been on my to-do list. In fact, it was a big, fat to-don't.

"I'll take that grimace as a no," Cal said, reminding me that I hadn't answered his question. "No matter, we'll start at the very beginning."

"That's a very good place to start," I agreed.

And that is exactly what we did for the next hour and half. From basic gun range rules and etiquette to how to load, aim, and fire the guns Cal retrieved from the back room. He made me try several different models to get a feel for them, and once I was finished shooting paper people to buggery, he packed each one away carefully while I slipped my jacket back on. I thought I did alright for not having even held a gun in the last six years, but then I was never very good at it to begin with, so Cal probably had an entirely different opinion.

As I watched him slide the guns into padded cases and set them on the end of the table at the edge of the room, I felt the curiosity I'd been suppressing creep up and grab hold of me. I had to know about the hair soon or I'd go insane.

"Can I ask you something," I asked quietly.

"You mean another something?" he countered with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," I said. "It's about your ink... and your hair."

Cal straightened from his task and met my gaze, but said nothing to discourage me from the questions I had. A lesser woman probably would have taken the mere eye contact as discouragement, but I was the fearless Kit Danger. I could do anything.

"Why would you cover up your tattoo with your hair? What's the point?"

He held my gaze with an intense stare, like he was challenging me. "Why do women insist on wearing make up?" he asked, rather than answer my question.

"It makes us feel pretty and more confident," I said with a shrug.

"It hides flaws and things you view as flaws. You could look like an ugly hag under all that paint and pigment and I would never know, because you will always wear makeup."

I narrowed my eyes at him, propping my hands on my hips. "When did this become about my make up habits?"

"When I changed the topic."

"It was a simply question," I pointed out. "If you didn't want to answer you could have just said so, I'd have under-."

"Do you know what it's like to have people stare at you wherever you go?" Cal asked, looking away, like he couldn't bear the judgements he might see in my eyes.

"I have an idea," I informed him, thinking back to first year and a half in Mexico. It was as if they'd never seen a blue eyed woman before, which was ridiculous, considering the amount of _other_ blue eyed women I encountered while there. No matter where I was or what I was doing, men would stare, mesmerised by the colour of my eyes. I was constantly approached by men looking to date me, or at least get to know me a little better, anything to have me look upon them with my blue eyes. It was creepy, and annoying. I wasn't interested in a relationship. I just wanted to be left alone.

Eventually, I had found a solution to my problem in the form of coloured contacts. It had been a toss-up between typical-brown and could-take-on-a-little-of-surrounding-hues-grey, but I'd finally settled on the grey, thinking that staring into brown eyes in the mirror, after an eternity of light and bright blue ones staring back at me would be almost like staring into the black eyes of a vampire from horror stories I told my parents I didn't read when I was twelve.

So yes, I knew how it felt to be ogled. I couldn't tell Cal _how_ I knew without revealing my true identity – or at the very least the fact that I wore coloured contacts – but I knew how he felt.

"You grew your hair to try and make your tat less obvious?" I guessed.

His lips twitched. "That might have been a subconscious reason, but truth is, my razor broke a couple years back during a time when I was much too busy to replace it, and I realised that once it got past the scratchy-spiky part of growth it wasn't so bad."

"You're joking, right?" I said, unsure whether he was spinning a tale or telling the truth. It still didn't answer my question as to why he would allow his hair to cover up his tattoo. What's the point in having a tattoo that's constantly obscured from sight? Unfortunately, I would have to interrogate him more on the topic another time, because at that moment the outer door opened and Lester Santos stepped through.

"You're late for an appointment," he informed me. "Not a great way to start off your time here."

* * *

_I had planned on including the gym session and a much bigger event in this chapter as well, but things ended up taking a lot more words than I thought they would, so we'll have to wait. Maybe next chapter._


	13. Chapter 12

_It has been Sunday for 21 minutes as I'm writing this. I'm getting sick and should probably have been bed hours ago, but instead I was determined to remove this chapter from my head and paste it onto the screen. Of course, I tend to think it images and conversations, so it was a little more difficult that a simply CTRL+C, CTRL+V affair, but it's here now. I hope you all enjoy it. Happy Sunday! (Or Saturday, depending on where you are in the world.)_

**Chapter 12**

There was a moment of silence during which both Cal and I stared open mouthed at the blonde haired, green eyed man. He had his arms crossed over his chest, causing the exposed muscles of his biceps to bulge ominously. It was then that I realised he was dressed in a black wife beater and gym shorts that reached mid thigh. The exposed skin was tanned and taught, stretched over lean muscle. Snapping my mouth shut, I did a quick, hopefully subtle drool check, and returned my gaze to his face. He was still glaring expectantly.

"Sorry," I said, and even I admit it was a lame start. "I lost track of time." And that just made it all the worse, I'm sure.

"We'll have wasted ten minutes by the time you've changed and arrived in the gym," he said briskly, turning with abrupt, almost jerky movements. "Hop to. Maybe you can redeem yourself by being quick about it." And with that he was gone.

"What's his problem?" I grumbled as the door swung shut behind him.

"I'd try to explain, but it'd just make you later. Probably, you don't want to keep him waiting any longer," Cal said apologetically with just a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"You're probably right," I agreed. I took two steps toward the door, but paused, turning back to face Cal. "Uh, which floor is the-."

"Third," he said before I could finish, practically pushing me from the room.

Five minutes later, I burst through the doors of the gym dressed in a pair of running shorts and my day to day Rangeman t-shirt. I'd have worn the actual gym clothes Ella provided, but I didn't feel like exposing the same amount of skin I would at the beach if I was to wear a modest bikini with short board shorts. In the split second I had to decide when I'd skidded to a halt in my cubicle, I'd grabbed the shorts and sports bra, but also the top t-shirt before dashing to the bathroom to change. Luckily, I'd asked one of the men to hold the elevator until I go back, so all I had to do was jump in, hit the button and I was on my way back.

Now, Lester stood in the middle of the gym, arms crossed over his chest once more. That glare that I was beginning to become very familiar with locked in place. I crossed to stand in front of him, but he pointed to the treadmill. With an attempted single eyebrow raise, and a sigh when it inevitably failed, I stepped onto the dreaded running machine and waited for instructions. None came, but he did hit a few buttons, and suddenly the belt was moving under me. I was forced to jog or fall off the back of the device.

"We're just going to go for a light jog to warm up," Lester explained, hopping onto the treadmill next to mine and hitting presumably the same combination of buttons as he began to jog at the same pace as me. I was out of breath in a matter of a few seconds, but clearly it was no problem for Lester as he chose that moment to start up a conversation. "There's a certain level of fitness required for Rangeman employees," he informed me. "This session is for two things. First, we'll ascertain your fitness level so that an exercise regime can be tailored to your needs, and then we're also going to start on your self defence lessons."

"I can tell you... that my fitness... level... is quite...low..." I panted. My legs ached, my lungs burned, and my gait left a lot to be desired. Not to mention the stitch building in my side. "How long... do we have... to do this?"

Lester sent me a patronising smile. "Ten minutes," he said, "Or until you pass out. Whichever comes first."

By some miracle, I managed to last the whole ten minutes on the treadmill, stumbling my way off the machine to stand against the nearby wall, hands on hips as I bent at the waist, trying to get my breathing under control. My t-shirt was damp from sweat and I assumed my face was flushed as I looked up through my curtain of red, curling locks to find my torturer. Lester stepped into my field of vision looking even better than he had when he reprimanded me in the gun range, his delectable musculature glistening with a light sheen of sweat. Just enough to add to the sex appeal without giving off the gross, sweaty man smell.

Silently, he held out a towel and a bottle of water. A peace offering? It didn't matter if it was or not, I took both, gratefully gulping down the cool liquid before patting the sweat from my face and neck.

"That's some decent make up you have on," Lester commented when I brought the towel away from my face. "It's not even smudged."

"Must be waterproof," I replied.

"Must be?"

I shrugged, using the action to try and loosen the tension from my shoulders. "I don't read the labels that closely," I admitted. Looking around the room I took in the various men lifting weights and sparing with each other. No one seemed to have taken any notice of my treadmill struggle, or if they had, they'd promptly averted their attention when I'd regained full function of my brain just now. "So what's next?" I asked, trying for a perky tone. Kit Danger may not be very fit, but she wasn't a quitter. She was more determined than a toddler learning to walk.

Plus, if I was going to have to do it anyway, I may well accept it. It would be nice, after all, to not be ashamed of my body if Ranger ever found out who I really was and decided to take me there and then. A long shot, I know, but a girl could dream. It was better than the nightmares that I'd put up with last night. Any ray of sunshine was a welcome thought.

"Glutton for punishment," Lester stated, giving me a similar look to the one Cal had when he was asking about my firearms experience. He was trying to figure me out.

"I'm going to do whatever I can to keep this job now that I have it," I informed him. "Volunteer work is all over the place, but it's not very often you find a paid position doing the same thing. I've spent the last six years living a life only marginally more luxurious than those I was helping, because I was committed to the volunteer program. Now that I've been given this opportunity, you can bet your life I'll work to stay here. If that means killing myself in the gym, I guess that's what I'll have to do."

Lester gave a curt nod, but said nothing.

"And I almost forgot," I added, trying to contain a grin. "You owe me twenty bucks."

"My wallet is in my other pants," he replied. Without explanation he turned and walked briskly across the gym to matted area at the far end where a couple of men were dancing around each other.

"If you could get it to me by the end of the day, that'd be great," I requested, hurrying to catch up. "Like I said, I've been a volunteer for the last six years and my savings have pretty much bottomed out. Ever cent helps, you know?"

"You'll get your money, Kit," he said. "Don't worry. I'm a man of honour."

Could have fooled me with the way he'd been acting since I arrived. I didn't usually associate honour with men who made grossly sexist remarks and treated me with brusque displeasure, like he'd rather be somewhere else. Knowing the man he used to be, I was trying not to hate him and give him a piece of my mind. But it was hard. What could have possibly happened to leach all the joy from him? Hopefully it wasn't my fault. I would hate myself more than I already did if it was my fault Lester was an ass. I'd probably encourage him to continue treating me like this if he was acting this way because I left without a word and never returned.

While I'd retreated into my head, Lester had approached the men occupying the mats and engaged in a short conversation that ended with the pair gathering their things and moving off. Lester now stood in the centre of mats, hands on hips, apparently waiting for me to join him. Slowly, I crossed the blue padded area until I was within six feet of the man. Best not to get too close to him, in case he did one of those sneak attack moves.

"I thought we were going to test my fitness first," I said unsurely.

"We did," he replied. "You almost passed out after ten minutes of jogging. That tells me that, like you said, you fitness level is low, and we'll need to start from the bottom up. Right now, we're going to move on to self defence."

"You're not going to attack me and see how long it takes me to break free of your hold, are you?" I asked. "Because, although I'm sure it would very nice to be in your arms, I'm not into domination. And I can pretty much assure you right now that we'd be here all night if you were going to wait for me to get out of it. Everything I know I learned from Miss Congeniality, and while the basic steps are ingrained in my brain, I've had very little need to put them into action."

I'd barely gotten the words out of my mouth when I found myself captured within Lester's formidable arms. "No time like the present, Kitten," he whispered in my ear.

"My name is Kit," I corrected him. "Not Kitten."

"I thought it might be a nickname," he said casually, though his grip remained firm. "Short for something."

"Like 'Kitten'?" I asked, testing the limits of the hold. My arms were sandwiched between my back and Lester's abs. One of his arms circled my waist, the other was around my shoulders. I recognised that it was a modified version of what a person with real malice toward me would use. Ordinarily, the goal would be to suffocate me by putting pressure on my neck, making it difficult to draw a decent breath. Lester was allowing me time to think and try out methods, without the threat and panic of lack of oxygen and imminent unconsciousness.

"More like Sex Kitten," Lester mentioned. "I thought maybe your parents were hippies or something."

I had no way of knowing for sure, since I couldn't see his face, but I'm pretty sure, given his tone, that he was smiling. It reminded me of the sudden change in his demeanour yesterday morning right before he handed me over to Ranger. One minute we'd been arguing over his sexist remarks, the next he was agreeing to a bet and that twinkle I knew and loved was back in his eye. Today he was emotionless ass – if you don't count the slight angry vibe he'd given off at first – right up until I'd mentioned the bet again. It was like he was determined not to like Kit-me, which is why he was hard at the beginning of our interactions, but as he spent more time with me he couldn't help by let up a little, allowing his usual happy, cheerful self to peak out.

I'd have to see how he reacted next time we were put together, but if my theory was correct, there was hope.

"Sex Kitten," I repeated drolly, remembering that Kit Danger was a woman who had grown up with her name and had probably, at one point or another, been subjected to taunting or derogatory nicknames. "Gee, I've never heard that one before."

"Then perhaps there's some truth in it," he teased.

"I can see why no women have been employed here," I said, pulling on my arms in an attempt to free myself. "Probably, they were all suffocated by an excess of sexist comments during their trial shifts."

"Come on, Kitten," Lester said, clearly trying to provoke me now. "Don't be like that."

I grunted, jerking on my arms more forcefully. "You should know that cats have claws," I grumbled under my breath, shifting my weight to see if I could somehow use my legs to aid in my escape.

"I'm waiting for them to come out," Lester assured me, amusement in his tone. "But at the moment all you're doing is rubbing against me in a very affectionate seeming manner."

At that remark, I managed to reef my arms out of the vice formed by the pressure from his abs behind and arms in front. There was a jolt of pain in my wrist it slid out from between us, feeling crunchy, but I was finally was able to shift my weight properly and ram my elbow into his solar plexus. I stamped my heel down on his instep next, just like Sandra Bullock had taught me, but when I spun and thrust my right hand up to hit him in the nose, another painful jolt shot through my wrist, causing me to cry out. Rather than go for the customary groin shot next, I found myself reeling backwards, clutching my wrist to my chest with my other hand.

"Well done, Kitten," Lester said with a heavy amount of sarcasm. "You managed to injure yourself on your second day. This bodes well for the rest of your employment."

I looked up, flexing my hand to test my range of motion. He was rubbing his nose where I'd made contact, but otherwise appeared fine.

"Come on," he said, reaching out to wrap an arm around my back and urge me toward the doors. "You need Bobby to take a look at that."

Even through my pain, I managed to find the energy to remember that I am Kit Danger and therefore was not as familiar with Rangeman employees as I really was. "Bobby's the doctor guy, right?" I asked, deliberately choosing words other than those which I would normally use to describe the man. "I'm supposed to go see him sometime today anyway."

"No time like the present."

* * *

_Keep an eye out for Chapter 13. It will contain my next exciting plot point. One I've been planning for about seven chapters. Coming to an email alert near you. I thought I might get to it at the end of this chapter, but alas Lester used all my words. They always seems way closer than they really are. Thank you, and goodnight._


	14. Chapter 13

_FINALLY! I've been waiting to share this event with you ever since Shreek and I discussed the idea on the train about three weeks ago. This is what's been keeping me going the last few chapters. I actually expected to have this scene a couple of chapters ago, but the guys were just demanding more time. Anyway, here it is!_

**Chapter 13**

Bobby's POV

I almost had a heart attack when I stepped through the door to my medical office on Tuesday morning after a week away. The place was a shambles, bandages half unrolled and strewn across the table, bottles of antiseptic and antibiotic ointment out in the open on the bench rather than in their correct, clearly labelled places in the glass front cupboard. The entire scene reminded me of what you would find in the kitchen of a frat house on a Sunday morning after a big Saturday night party. Except the alcohol in this room would probably cause a lot more internal damage if you drank it.

I'd entrusted my domain to Tony, an up an coming medic in training, while I'd been at a conference keeping up to date on the current procedures. He had been working with me for three months now and I'd thought he was ready to take over responsibility at least for a short time. Apparently, I overestimated his abilities. It would take me hours to reorganise and re-sanitise the room. I'd have forced Tony to do it, but it would just frustrate me, and I'd be looking over his should the entire time to make sure it was done correctly. To save my sanity, I decided to undertake the task by myself. Tony would get his punishment in some other way.

This last week had been a test to see whether the kid was ready for a longer term of responsibility. I was long overdue for a holiday, and my wife had two weeks of holidays coming up. She thought it would be a nice idea if we could both have the time off together. We hadn't had more than the odd weekend away together in over six years. And half the time I got called back to work anyway. Training Tony up was a way of ensuring that I got a full two weeks off, but clearly, he needed more instruction between now and then.

Dumping the bandages and other paraphernalia that had been left out into a box, I set to work. First on the agenda was removing everything from cupboards and drawers and disinfecting all the surfaces. I'd set the equipment to sterilising while I wiped down bottles and jars, returning them to their rightful places, had mopped the floor and was working on rewinding the bandages when I heard footsteps approaching.

I stepped out into hall, still holding my latest bandage, and was met with an odd sight. Lester was leading a woman down the hall toward me. She wore shorts and a Rangeman shirt and Lester was dressed in his gym clothes, so they'd clearly come from the gym. The question was, why? We hadn't had a woman in the gym since... Well, I'm not sure we'd ever had a woman in the gym. I must have missed a memo while I was away. Probably, I wouldn't be so confused if I'd stopped to check my emails before checking on the infirmary.

"Who's this?" I asked as Lester and the red headed woman came closer. As I took in her body language, though, I realised there were more important questions. "Are you alright?" She was holding her right wrist against her chest and looked as though she was being very careful not to move it. There was no blood that I could see so my first thought was a sprain or strain. Possibly a fracture, though it was less likely. "What happened?"

"Kit Danger," the woman said. "But you probably already knew that. Everyone here seems to know who I am before I meet them."

"I must have missed the memo," I replied. By this time she'd reached the doorway to the room I'd just painstakingly returned to order, so naturally I stepped aside to let her through with in instructions to hop up onto the table. Once she was out of sight, I raised an eyebrow at Les, hoping he'd understand and give me the cliff notes on why she's here.

"She's new," he said simply. "Ranger hired her yesterday specifically for the new community aid initiative. I was training her in self defence. She hurt her wrist."

"_Ranger_ hired her?" I questioned, just to be sure I'd heard him correctly. Ranger had never hired a woman before for anything other than housekeeping. He'd put Stephanie Plum on payroll briefly when she was behind on rent, but I doubt he'd ever have seriously considered hiring her if he wasn't interested in her for other reasons. This Kit woman must have stellar experience. Clearly wasn't military, if she required self defence training. This was a puzzle and a half.

"I know what you're thinking, man," Les said, craning his neck to see into the room and make sure Kit wasn't trying to listen in. He lowered his voice a little more. "I confronted him _and_ Tank on it yesterday and they both said that she was the most qualified person for the job that they'd seen."

"But she's a –"

"Believe, me I pointed that out. To Ranger. To Tank. Hell, I even pointed it out to Kit." He shook his head. "They were unfazed. She called me sexist, man."

I shook my head. "Well, you have been known to make the odd comment. But if she's here to stay, I guess I better go see to her wrist and get her to sign a form so I can have access to her medical records."

"That might be a bit difficult," Les said matter-of-factly. "I think she's right handed." He slapped my on the shoulder, wished me luck and was off back down the hall, presumably, to go write an incident report pertaining to Kit's injury.

I took a slow breath to centre myself before stepping back into the medical office to introduce myself to Rangeman's newest employee.

"Well, Kit," I said, setting the half rolled bandage I still held on top of the rest. "Let's see what damage you've managed to do on your second day."

"I think I just need to ice it," she assured me, gingerly moving the offending wrist, trying to test its range of motion. "It just twisted funny, is all."

I gave her a reassuring smile. It was a nice change to not have to deal with the other guys, who turned into overgrown babies at the first sign of injury. Mostly, I thought the reason for their dramatics was that they knew if they weren't in tip top shape they'd be stuck behind a desk until they were cleared for active duty. Probably, Kit would be spending the majority of her time behind a desk anyway, so it didn't really matter to her.

"I'll be the judge of that," I informed her. "How about you let me take a look at it and then we can put some ice on it while we discuss the next step."

I spent the next couple of minutes poking and prodding at her wrist and hand, determining where it hurt most. There was a good chance that he's sprained it, but I couldn't be sure until I'd done some x-rays. I told her as much and lead her to the x-ray room next door. I was positioning her arm on the table when I noticed a feint scar on the inside of her forearm. It was about an inch and a half long and barely visible, but being a medic, it was the kind of thing I tended to notice. I could tell that whoever had stitched her up had done a brilliant job; it had healed to near perfection. But something about it struck me as odd. Like maybe I'd seen it before, but I couldn't quite remember where.

Shaking it off, I continued with the x-ray and examination of her wrist. She had managed a mild sprain through the simple act of wrenching her arm free of Lester's hold, so I strapped it up, got her to sign the form that allowed me access to her medical records, and sent her on her way with instructions to rest her wrist. Hopefully she could follow that simple request better than the men, who always seemed to make matters worse by continuing as if there was nothing wrong.

Kit Danger was definitely different to the average Rangeman employee, and not just because her anatomy was fundamentally dissimilar, but that did not mean she didn't fit. My overall impression of her was that she was mild mannered, confident, and able to hold her own against the likes of the motley crew we had assembled in this building. Any woman who had the balls to call Lester on his lines had a high chance of being accepted into the brotherhood.

But there was something about her...

I took the box of still yet to be roll bandages and made my way up to the control centre in search of Tony. He could roll the rest of the bandages himself while I caught myself up on the events of the last week. And it wouldn't hurt if I could keep an eye on Kit at the same time.

*o*

"Ashley?" I called, unbuckling my utility belt and stashing it in the safe at the back of the coat closet before heading down the central hallway toward the kitchen. I knew she was home, her car was in the garage, but I had no way of knowing how long she'd been home. Ashley taught second grade at the local public school and every other Tuesday they had a staff meeting after work. These meetings could last anywhere from one hour to three, depending on how eventful it had been at the school and what kind of professional development needed to be done. So although it was almost seven, and on a normal day she would have already eaten and be in the midst of planning or marking for her class, on alternating Tuesdays, anything was possible.

"Ash? You there?"

"Kitchen," she called back. "Meeting ran seriously late today, so I'm making nachos, you in?"

"Love some," I replied, reaching the doorway to the kitchen to find my gorgeous wife bent over so that only her beautifully rounded ass stuck out from behind the refrigerator door. We'd been married almost ten years now, and each time I saw that rear the love I felt for her hit me all over again. It was the same with any part of her that I caught a glimpse of. Unable to resist such an open invitation, I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her upright up against my chest. "How was your day?" I asked, squeezing gently.

"Timmy threw up all over his desk after lunch," she informed me easily. "Madeline decided to throw sticks at birds during lunch. None of them know how to write an A the right way around. And I think there's a new lice epidemic starting up."

"We'll treat your hair after dinner," I suggested. "Did they at least like the rocket ship activity you planned for them?"

"It was a hoot," she said, spinning in my arms to face me. "And then Jackson threw his rocket and it hit Jasmine in the eye."

I smiled. "Hearing about your class makes dealing with the men at work easier," I told her not for the first time. "At least the guys don't pull each other's hair and punch each other in the face simply because they were being teased."

"True," she agreed, wiggling free and placing the bag of grated cheese on the bench next to the two plates of Doritos. "Speaking of which, how was your day?"

"Met the newest member of the Rangeman team," I said mildly, deliberately misleading her. She knew all about the company, and the men. They were all men. Always. Until now.

"What's he like?" she asked, just like I knew she would.

"Mild mannered. Not as quiet as some. Female."

She paused in the action of pouring cheese all over the chips and stared at me. "Pull the other one," she said.

"She's female," I insisted. "Kit Danger was hired yesterday for the new community project. She's been volunteering in Mexico for the last six years and for some reason decided to return to the States and apply for a job at Rangeman. God only knows how she found out about it. Hell, I was only vaguely aware of this new side we were going for."

"You're sure she's female?" Ashley asked, putting down the cheese and facing me fully with her hands on her hips. "You're not joking?"

I didn't know how to convince her that the woman was just that, so I said the first thing that came to mind. "She had boobs."

Just as I thought would happen, she grinned for a moment, showing all her teeth until finally, the smile gave way to a giggle. "Okay," she conceded. "I guess I have to believe you. But I thought you said Ranger would never put another woman on staff after that Stephanie woman you were all so obsessed with a few years back."

"That's what makes this so confusing. We honestly believed that he never would. You remember what it was like after she left. The entire company was devastated. It doesn't make sense."

"You know what you need, don't you," she said, sliding the first plate into the microwave to melt the cheese.

"Horrendous action films with lots of big, Hollywood car crashes?" I suggested hopefully. She nodded in the affirmative and I pulled her into a kiss. "You know just how to switch my mind off. I'll go set it up."

"I'll bring dinner in in a sec," she assured me.

As it turns out, we only made it half an hour into the movie. The Kit thing had been playing on my mind the entire time. I just couldn't get the image of that fine, neat scar on her forearm out of my head. I could have sworn I'd seen it before. And it wasn't just that. Her entire being just called to me, like she was familiar. Her red curly hair, her grey eyes, the eyeliner, none of it was familiar, but at the same time it was.

And then the first major car explosion had occurred on screen. As the cameras artfully captured the debris flying through the air, it suddenly hit me. I knew where I'd seen that scar before. I knew how that scar had happened. _I _had been the one to stitch the wound.

"Shit," I breathed, reaching for the remote. I'd turned the movie off and was halfway out of the room by the time Ash had caught up with me.

"Where are you going?" she asked, more confused now than she had been when I told her that the new employee was a woman.

"To Tank's house."

"Why?"

"Kit Danger is Stephanie Plum."

* * *

_Dun Dunn DUUUUNNNNNNN! Now what will we do?_


	15. Chapter 14

_Woke up this morning with a headache, nausea, a sore throat and no voice. By one o'clock in the afternoon the nausea and headache were gone and the soreness in my throat had receded, but I figured I would be no use at work (outside school hours care) if I couldn't use my voice, so I called in sick. Aaaaaand ended up finishing this chapter for you all. _

**Chapter 14**

I was sprawled on the sofa catching up on my life as Kit Danger with Geraldine perched primly on my chest. Every now and then, when my hand slowed in its petting motion, she would butt her head against the papers to get my attention. I'd never really pictured myself as a cat person, but Geraldine just seemed to get me. I could totally understand why Tank loved her so much.

Speaking of Tank, the large man was taking longer than I would have thought necessary for a man with no hair to shower. I hoped he hadn't drowned.

Figuring that Tank was a grown man who surely knew not to inhale the water, I shrugged off my worries and returned my concentration to trying to memories my life in case, by some stroke of bad luck, someone decided to ask for my life's story. A page later, I was trying to decide if it was worth the effort of getting up to investigate the kitchen for signs of sugar, knowing that the chances were slim, when the doorbell rang. Followed immediately by a heavy, insistent pounding. And then the door bell again, four times in quick succession. Whoever it was was desperate to get in.

Moving Geraldine to the couch cushion, I crept quietly to the front doo and peaked through the peep hole. There, on the small porch, stood Robert Brown looking as wild as I'd ever seen him. What could have him in such a state?

I waited a moment until the banging started up again before carefully hurrying up the stairs. I couldn't believe that Tank could have _not_ heard that. Just as I reached the landing for the second floor, Bobby started yelling.

"Come on, Tank!" he called through the door. "I know you're home, I checked with control on the way over. Let me in already!"

Lucky for me and my anxiety levels, Tank chose that moment to emerge not from the bathroom, but from his home office. "I can never get a moment's peace," he grumbled under his breath, slamming the door shut. "Not even in my own damn house."

"It's bobby," I told him quietly, despite the fact that he'd probably already figured that out.

"Go to your room," he instructed. "Don't come out until I say."

"You sound like my mom," I accused, crossing my arms over my chest.

"He's gonna start picking the lock soon," Tank said pointedly.

I sighed, but started toward the room I'd been staying in. "Fine," I said. "Don't worry about me. I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I don't exist."

"Excellent idea. Just don't let any house elves trick you into coming downstairs and revealing your presence," Tank warned as he huffed down the stairs. Louder, he yelled, "Lay off already! I'm coming!"

As Tank reached the bottom of the stairs, I ducked into my room, crouching down just inside the doorway and pulling the door closed until it was an inch or so ajar. My patented Stephanie Plum curiosity wouldn't allow me to close it all the way or move away for fear that I would miss something. I couldn't risk cutting of my view of even my ability to listen in. I almost felt like I would die if I didn't know what was going on.

"What took you so long?" Bobby demanded, pushing past Tank and into the entrance hall. Tank, I noticed, didn't bother to make excuses for himself, not that Bobby allowed him the chance. His mouth was moving again in the next second. "What do you know about this Kit Danger woman we just hired?" he asked in the same urgent tone.

I gulped audibly. Probably the men heard it downstairs. That and the rapid beating of my heard against the inside of my rib cage.

"She's a perfectly competent, experienced woman," Tank replied vaguely.

"What else," Bobby insisted, pacing back and forth in the small space.

"She speaks fluent Spanish," Tank shrugged. It was obvious he had no idea what Bobby was after, or if he did, he wasn't prepared to give it up without a fight.

"That's it?"

Tank simply crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at the smaller man. "What's this about?" he asked flatly. And there was no doubt in my mind that was a command for Bobby to spill.

"Kit came to the infirmary today," Bobby began, still pacing back and forth. "She sprained her wrist during a self defence lesson with Lester. As I was examining the wrist I noticed this thin, almost invisible scar on her forearm.

_Don't panic, Stephanie,_ I told myself as my breathing picked up. Lots of people have scars. Hell, there's probably at least a hundred other people in the world that have a scar in the exact same place on their forearm... Maybe... I glanced down at the offending mark, recalling that Kit Danger had apparently received the wound that had caused it from a sharp edge on a dumpster while empting the trash one evening at a previous job, though I couldn't remember what job that was. How Tank knew about all my scars was a mystery to me, but he had a story for all of them.

"A lot of people have scars, Bobby," Tank said, drawing my attention back to the conversation. "Try naming someone you know that doesn't."

"But I know _this_ scar," Bobby insisted, his movements getting jerkier. "I've seen it before."

Tank shrugged for the second time in the one conversation. "Maybe you've seen a scar _like_ Kit's," he offered.

Bobby shook his head so hard I worried he might dislodge something. "This exact scar," he said adamantly. "I know it, because I stitched the wound closed." Tank, again, said nothing, just stared at his friend like he'd suggested that the sky might be neon green right now. "I'm serious, Tank," Bobby urged, finally coming to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. "I think Kit Danger is really Stephanie Plum."

A gasp left my throat before I could stop it and I immediately clasped a hand over my mouth, hoping they hadn't heard me. Tank had told me to stay out of sight until he said, and you can be damn sure I was going to. Even with Bobby's revelation, I had no way of knowing if Tank was going to agree with him or somehow convince him that he was delirious and send him on his way. You never could tell with Tank.

"Do you have any proof?" Tank asked. There might have been some caution in his tone, then again I could be going insane. I knew this deceitful plan wouldn't last long.

"Just some circumstantial evidence," Bobby replied. His shoulder drooped a little, but I could still here the determination in his voice. "Same height. Same basic build. Same scar. Both have curly hair."

"Steph's hair was brown," Tank pointed out.

"She could have dyed it," Bobby countered.

"How do you explain Kit's eyes being grey?" Tank challenged.

"Coloured contacts," Bobby practically yelled. "Why are you being so difficult about this?"

"Just making sure you've truly thought his through before you go accusing a person of being someone they may or may not be. I figure you should have your reasons in the front of your mind so you can explain when you're asked.

Bobby threw his hands in the air, clearly frustrated. "Tell me she doesn't remind you of Steph," he said.

Tank smiled. "You right, she does remind me of Steph," he agreed, looking down as Geraldine, finally fed up with being along and ignored in the living room , entered the hallway and began winding around Tank's feet. "But that doesn't necessarily mean she _is_ Steph," he said, watching was his cat gave up on him and moved to Bobby instead, repeating the action. Bobby, too, ignored her and Geraldine started up the stairs. To me. She knew I was up here and since the men failed to show her the affection she craved she had moved on to the next person.

Bobby pivoted slowly on the spot, watching the cat as she went and although I had closed the door to a mere sliver, I could clearly see the confusion on his face. "She doesn't usually give up that easily," he said.

"Maybe she's finally learning that she can't have attention every second of the day," Tank suggested mildly.

"No." Bobby shook his head. "For her to learn that, you would have to be trying to teach her that. And you don't have the spine to refuse her. Geraldine doesn't give up until she has the attention she wants."

Tank had no reply to that, and I found myself holding my breath, hoping against hope that Geraldine wouldn't come straight to my door. I didn't have to hold it long, though, because once she'd reached the landing she was at the door in a flash, butting her head against it and meowing quite insistently.

_Well this was fun while it lasted_, I thought to myself.

"Who do you have up there?" Bobby demanded, taking two steps up the stairs toward me.

Surely the gig was up. All Tank had to do was say the word and I'd be up and out of this room, more than happy to end this and have everyone know who I really was. It wouldn't even be that hard for Bobby to confirm that I was me, because I'd taken my contacts out half an hour after arriving home.

"It's none of your business," Tank said defiantly. "This is my house."

"It's Steph, isn't it?" Bobby accused. "You instigated this thing."

With a light sigh, Tank called up to me, "You may as well come out now."

I stood from my crouched position, but made no move to leave the room or open the door. Dressed in sweat pants and a tank top with not a swipe of mascara in sight was no exactly how I'd pictured officially revealing myself to the Merry Men for the first time. They'd seen me in far worse condition, but I still felt the urge to quickly change and put on some light make up. I wanted Bobby to be proud of the woman I'd turned into. I wanted him see a competent and confident person, not the Bombshell Bounty Hunter he used to know. I'd changed a lot and something in my brain said that if I was dressed like the old me I'd be perceived as the old me. There was probably some truth to it, too, what with that dress for success saying. Appearance is everything.

"Steph?" Bobby called tentatively. There was an almost breathy quality to his voice, like he was afraid of what might happen when the door opened and I stepped out.

Geraldine meowed again, pawing at the door and I swallowed hard. There was no time to make myself look any better. It was now or never. Before I could psych myself out again, I pushed the door open and stepped out into the soft light of the hallway, biting my bottom lip nervously. My entire friendship with Bobby was balanced on this moment. If he hated me for leaving and then coming back but not coming back as me than I'd probably have to leave again. No amount of Tank's reassurances could get me to continue with this or reveal myself to the entire company if Bobby had an adverse reaction to my being me.

"Stephanie Plum, as I live and breathe," he said reverently, a grin splitting his features. "I'd recognise those baby blues anywhere."

A breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding left my lungs on an audible whoosh as relief washed through me. The next thing I knew I was halfway down the stairs, staring directly into Bobby's eyes as he stood on the step below me. We were about the same height like this, which made it easier for me to throw my arms around his neck. I'd never been a hugger, it just wasn't how we showed emotion in my family, but unfortunately I didn't have the requisite skills or time required to show emotion in the way of my family. Food. If I was my mother right now, I'd be baking. But I wasn't. I was me. So I was hugging the crap out of this man.

While I was distracted, clinging to him for dear life, he wrapped his own arms around my back, holding tight and lifting my off the step to carry me down the stairs. It wasn't until he'd hauled me into the kitchen, set me on the counter and gently prised my hands off him that I realised I was crying.

I opened my eyes to a view that seriously needed to have the focus adjusted.

"What's with the water works?" Tank asked, standing behind Bobby's right shoulder. "You didn't give me that kind of reaction when I found you in Mexico."

"She likes me better," Bobby said, using the pad of his thumb to wipe the tears from cheeks. It did nothing to clear my vision, though, so I used the hem of my top to dry my face before pulling my legs up to sit Indian style on the bench. I was attempting to hide my hands in the gap left by my legs when Bobby suddenly grabbed both of them in his own and waited for me to meet his gaze. "I missed you so much," he informed me solemnly, still smiling though his eyes were rather sombre. "The infirmary has been a lot less fun without your visits."

"Don't expect me to be picking up where we left off," I warned him, struggling to get words past the lump that had developed in my throat. "I'm not working the criminal side of Rangeman anymore. I'm hoping to keep myself intact."

An amused glint sparkled in his eyes before he replied, "Says the woman who managed to injure herself on her second day back."

"That wasn't my fault!" I exclaimed. "I _told_ Lester I had no self defence experience."

"A lie," Tank pointed out, now leaning against the island in the middle of the kitchen.

"A truth," I countered. "I've never had formal self defence training."

Bobby squeezed my good hand lightly, silently reminding me that he was there. "I'm curious," he said softly. "Why pretend to be someone else if you're so happy that you can greet me properly?"

I looked to Tank briefly, but couldn't hold his gaze long enough to decipher the expression he was displaying there, so I decided to stare down at my hands where they joined with Bobby's resting on my knees. "It's complicated," I finally said.

* * *

_And the award for understatement of the year goes to..._


	16. Chapter 15

_Sorry it's taken a little longer than the last few, but I just didn't feel like writing. And then I got distracted by my hair. In the last three or four days I've learned how to do a four strand ribbon braid in both French and lace form, the five strand Dutch and French braids, the seven and nine strand Dutch braids and the four strand round braid._

**Chapter 15**

Thursday morning, I fobbed my way into the garage, rode the elevator to the fifth floor and crossed the command centre to the cubicle I'd been assigned, feeling like I was being watched the entire time, like every guy I passed was following my every move extra carefully, maybe even suspiciously. It had been two days since Bobby pounded his way into Tank's entrance way claiming that Kit Danger was a fraud. He'd been right, of course and I was so happy to see him and to have him greet me like the old friend I really was that I'd almost forgotten the tenuous game I played at work. Until he'd asked the question.

_Why?_

The honest to God truth of the matter was that I really didn't know why I'd agreed to go along with this. It all seemed so stupid after seeing how Bobby reacted when he saw me for the first time as me. These men had once gone out of their way to help me in whatever way I needed at the time and how do I repay them? Running away for six years and then coming back, but not really coming back. My own dogged pride made me stipulate that I wanted to get the job fair and square. And Tank's mischievous grin had convinced me to see how long I could keep it up.

But I'd had to explain to Bobby somehow.

I told him about meeting Tank in Mexico that day, and exchanging contact details. I told him of my determination to see my job through to the end. My indecisiveness over whether to come back or not. Tank's job offer. My determination to not just be handed the job. Tank's solution. And of course the moment that solution had turned into what I now realised was an experiment to see how observant the Merry Men really were. Everyone but Bobby had failed, but there was still time to redeem themselves.

When we told Bobby that Ranger hadn't made any connection between Kit-me and Steph-me he was as shocked as I was. Tank had even dropped multiple hints during his meeting Tuesday morning and there was not even a hint that it made him think of Steph-me. Worried about what his reaction might be when he did eventually realise I was me, Bobby had tried to convince Tank to drop the charade and come clean. It wasn't until I'd pointed out that the Rangemen were security specialist who _should_ be able to recognise an imposter when they saw one, let alone were working with one, that he decided continuing was a good idea.

It didn't squash the worry that he might accidentally, or even on purpose let slip my true identity at work. I was giving this guise everything I had, but having more people, even just the one, know about it was adding to the risk of someone finding out from a simply mistake. Like spending extra time with me.

That's what was making me really nervous.

Yesterday Bobby had gone out of his way to seek me out during my lunch break. It wasn't even like he had a reason. He just came into the and sat down at the table I was eating my sandwich and started chatting like one would with any new co-worker. Asking how I was settling in etc. Wondering about my life before the company. On the one hand, it helped to talk to him about my fake life, because I knew it didn't really matter that much if I stuffed it up, but on the other, I was worried that the guys would notice the extra time he was spending with me. Might be listening in when we thought we were alone. May perhaps pick up on some little thing I do and realise I was a fraud, but not make the extra connection that I was me and take actions against me, like kidnapping and torture. I shuddered at the very possibility.

I couldn't be myself if any of the guys at work, but I especially couldn't let anything slip with Bobby. He knew my secret, but if I started acting differently with him than I did with the others, the men might start to think that Bobby was a part of it. Which would be doubly bad.

I'd just made it to my cubicle when a hand grabbed me by the elbow and spun me around, sending me reeling in the direction I'd just come. Before I'd fully recovered Hank was directly in front of me, a sheepish smile on his face.

"Sorry," he apologised. "I didn't mean for you to do a full about face. It's been so long since we've had a woman around here, I guess I forgot how to act. You're not as... I mean, you're much more..."

"Don't say delicate," I requested, putting my hand on his forearm. "I can handle a little man handling from time to time, just please don't call me the d-word."

"D-word?" Someone said from directly behind me. I was pretty sure it was Cal. "What would that be? Delightful?"

"Delicious?" a nearby Rangeman who's name I legitimately did not know suggested.

"Delectable?" Darren chimed in, appearing out of nowhere to join in the antics.

I shook my head at them, but couldn't help the smile that appeared on my face as they continued rattling off more d-words.

"Delirious," Cal said, coming to stand in front of me with the rest. "Dilemma?"

"It's de-lovely!" the unnamed guy sang out from the back of the crowd gathered around me. Everyone laughed and slapped the guy on the back continued on their tasks as if nothing had happened, except Hank and Cal.

"So seriously," Cal said, "What can we not call you?"

Hank studied me for a moment, before answering for me. "She says we can't call her delicate," he explained. "But the way I figure it, she is, comparatively, incredibly delicate."

"Of course I am compared to you," I defended. "For a start, I don't spend every free moment I have working out. And secondly, you're male. Genetically, you're designed to be bigger and beefier."

Cal shook his head, sending the shaggy dirty blonde locks that covered his forehead swaying from side to side. "We didn't mean compared to us," he said.

"Who?"I asked, though I already had a good idea of who they had in mind. Who else would they be comparing the only female member of staff to? Stephanie Plum, of course. Little did they know that Kit Danger was in fact the one and only Stephanie Plum in their thoughts right now.

"The greatest woman to ever live," Hank said wistfully. That kind of emotion was so rare for these guys that I was immediately debilitated by a lump in my throat. If I wasn't careful, I'd forget myself and start crying. _Stay strong, Kit. Stay strong._ "Her name was Stephanie Plum."

"She worked here?" I managed to ask without sounding emotional.

"Somewhat," Cal said, and he looked like he would have continued his explanation, had the quiet air of the comm. floor not been disrupted but a sharp whistle. All activity stopped immediately and bodies emerged from behind cubicle walls to turn their full attention to the whistler. I'd never experienced a moment like this. Not even as Stephanie six years ago, so I was confused as to what could possibly be happening.

And that's when I felt the tingle in the back of my neck. I was so shocked by its occurrence that a gasp escaped me. It was only by a great show of control that I didn't clap my hand to my neck. As Tank's familiar booming voice called instructions across the floor, I found myself searching the men for Ranger. I hadn't noticed any tingles during my interview, the one and only time we'd come face to face, but then, I'd been so nervous and preoccupied analysing all his words and actions for the smallest signs of recognition, that I may have missed them. And although, I'd felt like I was being watched for the last couple of days, there was definitely not tingle at any point. I'd have noticed.

Men were moving around me, surging into action as a direct response to the commands Tank had issued. I hadn't heard a word, too busy seeking out the boss. Just as I spotted him leading a team of men toward the stairwell door as they all pulled on flak vests and utility belts, a hand on my elbow spun me around for the second time in ten minutes. I was faced with Cal and his obscured tattoo this time.

"Kit, it's time for you to learn the ropes," he informed me, not letting go of my elbow as he started guiding – read: dragging – me toward the centre of the command floor. Where there were usually at least four men sat in front of the bank of monitors, there was only Mal, looking utterly dejected as he watched most of the other men evacuate out of the corner of his eye. "These screens monitor every property under our security," Cal explained, gesturing to the wall of screens. "Our job, for the rest of the morning, or until our relief gets in, whichever comes first, is to keep an eye on them all."

"What if something happens on one of the screens?" I asked, hoping to show my willingness to be pulled into the security side of things from time to time as required. Perhaps letting them know that I wasn't just a human rights activist would help my reception.

"We get a team there as soon as possible," he instructed.

I gazed around the floor, noting that only a few men were left wandering around the floor and sitting at desks. I estimated Ranger and Tank had taken seventy five percent of the on duty men with them on whatever urgent mission they'd just hauled ass to. I'd always wondered how exactly this worked.

"What team would that be?" I asked.

"It depends on the situation and location," he explained. "If it's nearby we could send a couple of men from the office. If not there's a number of teams in the field that can be called in." Cal hit a couple of buttons on the keyboard in front of him and a map with a bunch of green dots came up on one of the lower screens. "Once you have the location of the incident, you come to this screen, find the nearest green dot, and click on it. That will make a call to the team from your headset."

"I don't have a headset," I pointed out.

"Right here," Mal announced a split second before he moved my hair out of the way and hooked a small device over my ear. "Don't worry too much about it, though," he reassured me, leaning back in his chair and crossing his ankles, one over the other on the corner of the desk. "It's not like you'll be witnessing anything major, like a-,"

"Don't say it," Cal warned. "You know you'll be out of here in a flash if you even utter the word I know you want to say."

* * *

_"The suspense is terrible. I hope it lasts." ~Willy Wonka._


	17. Chapter 16

_SQUEEE! I'm so excited about this chapter. Writing from Cal's point of view was really fun, and actually much easier than writing for Bobby. He was a little more tight lipped about everything that was going on and we had power struggles the entire time. Cal, on the other hand was just like, "Here's everything you need to know." Anyway. Enjoy._

**Chapter 16**

Cal's POV

With Kit's right wrist sprained, I'd taken the opportunity in the last couple of days to get her comfortable using a gun with her non-dominant hand. She was absolutely dreadful at first, but at least she was hitting the paper now. Not hitting within the person outline, yet, but we're getting closer. It was strangely rewarding seeing her make so much improvement from just my instructions, even if she did give me some hinky vibes. There was just something off about the woman. Like yesterday, when I asked her where she grew up that she never needed to learn how to shoot and she took almost a minute to answer. It was like she was trying to recall facts that were not directly related to her life.

It didn't necessarily mean she was an imposter, sometimes disease or trauma can make people forget, but from what I knew of her past, there was nothing like that. Certainly, that would have been the kind of thing that was highlighted in the cliff notes version of her record that we was passed around the office the day she was hired. So naturally, I was suspicious.

This morning, my shift started just half an hour before Kit was due arrive, but I was determined get some investigating done in the mean time. I did a quick online yearbook search of Kit's old high school to see if I could come up with anything there, only to find that there was not a single person enrolled at that school named Kit Danger. Ever.

Suspicions rising.

I tried not to get ahead of myself. People change their names all the time. Kit Danger did sound made up, after all. So I ran her ID photo through facial recognition. That, too, came up empty on the online year book. So Ms. Danger had lied about where she went to school. Nothing out of the ordinary there; I'd once dated a woman who lied about going to college... of course she had claimed that she was _not_ going to college, thinking that it would make her more appealing to the kind of guy she thought I was, but that's beside the point. For whatever reason, Kit was being far from truthful about who she was, which could easily lead to corrupt intentions. I saw it as my duty to get to the bottom of it before she managed to infiltrate any major security systems and wreak havoc on the company and surrounding community.

I checked my watch, noting that Kit was due in the office in five minutes and quickly set my computer to running a wider facial rec search and dashed out of my cubicle. My aim was to do a quick search of Kit's work space before she got here just to see if there was anything lying around that might clue me into her intent. With time cutting so fine, though, I needed a look out. Lucky for me, Hank was passing through the comm. room at that very moment.

Grabbing his arm, I dragged him toward Kit's cubicle in the back. He was confuse, I was sure, but he said nothing on the matter, not even when we'd come to a halt, which made it all the more easy for me.

"Act casual. If you see Kit coming before I'm out, distract her," I instructed right before I ducked behind the dividing wall.

The first thing I noticed was that it was organised. Never a good sign. A tidy, unassuming desk is a sign of a person out to hide something. That was my new saying. Of course I may have been biased by the fact that I kept a perfectly disorganised desk in my own cubicle. I'd have been slammed for it back in the service, but unlike the training regime, tidiness was something I could just not keep up with in real life. The other guys hated it, but they could all get over themselves.

It almost made me miss Bomber all over again. I used to love it when she was around, because as unorganised as I was, she made me seem anal.

With so much precision in the placement of each item on and in the desk, I had to be extra careful to put everything back exactly as I found it. To avoid excessive disruption, I pulled the top desk drawer completely out, knowing that there was a secret compartment right at the back that Lester had installed for Bomber to hide her sweets in. And judging by the candy bar I found there that was at least five years out of date, I'd say Kit was not aware it was there. So no hidden secrets in the back of the drawer.

I did a quick rifle through the file drawer, but since it wasn't locked, I didn't hold much hope of finding anything incriminating in there either.

Disappointed by the lack of evidence, I was returning everything to the way I found it when Hank's voice reached my ears.

"Sorry," he said, and I knew he was deliberately speaking loud enough for me to hear. Usually he was quite softly spoken. "I didn't mean for you to do a full about face. It's been so long since we've had a woman around here, I guess I forgot how to act." It was definitely Kit he was talking to, which meant I probably had thirty seconds to cover my tracks and get out. As Hanks words returned to their normal volume, I swept my care over the cubicle, and caught on the computer monitor. I desperately wanted to search the hard drive, but I had to move. There was no knowing how long Hank could hold Kit's attention. I'd just have to get Hector or Hank to search it remotely later...

Once I was satisfied that everything was back the way I'd found it, I quickly ducked back out of the cubicle and found myself standing directly behind my newest suspect.

"I can handle a little man handling from time to time," she was saying. "Just please don't call me the D-word."

"D-word?" I asked curiously, announcing my presence. "What would that be? Delightful?"

An almost inaudible chuckle drifted through the air toward us right before Tony suggested, "Delicious?" He was a bit left of centre as far as I was concerned, and I was glad Bobby was keeping him down in the infirmary more and more often.

Next thing, Darren was joining the group, which was typical of him. If there was something going on he liked to be right in the thick of it. The better to learn and improve his skills and knowledge that way, I guess. "Delectable?" he said, clearly not having heard anything but my and Tony's input and figured we were after either d-words or delicious synonyms.

Kit shook her head, but I could tell even from behind that she was smiling. She liked the goofy antics, it appeared. That was a good sign if she was a legitimate employee, because it meant she could take a joke and wouldn't immediately go on the defensive like some women I'd dealt with in the past. The moment you said something that even sounded like it could have maybe been meant in a hurtful or insulting way, they'd been all over the person who'd said it, whether it was aimed at them or not. If Kit turned out to be clean as a hospital bedpan, she'd probably fit right in here... Like Bomber did.

To keep myself from thinking too much about it, because Kit was definitely not Bomber and Bomber was undoubtedly not coming back, ever, I came up with a few more D-words as I moved to stand next to Hank.

"Delerioius," I said, "Dilemma?"

"It's de-lovely!" Ton announced, though I had a feeling he was trying to sing. Like I said, he was left of centre. Probably, he was into musical theatre. I don't know, but apparently it was funny to the few guys that had gathered around, because they let out chuckles and laughs, slapping Tony on the back as they disbanded. We all knew that hanging around in groups was likely to attract the wrong kind of attention from Ranger and Tank. Usually, we'd get a stern – read: loud – talking to, but if you caught them on a particularly bad day you'd end up pinned to the mats a half dozen times before you realised what was going on. I decided to risk the consequences, however, because I needed to figure out why Kit was making me feel off.

"So seriously," I said casually, crossing my arms over my chest. I travelled my gaze between the subject of my suspicion and Hank. Instinctively I knew that Hank would be the one to answer my question, because Kit was too busy watching our actions.

Hank studied her for a long moment, gauging her reactions before saying, "She says we can't call her delicate. But the way I figure it, she is, comparatively, incredibly delicate."

Kit reacted instantly, her shoulders shooting back, fists clenching. If she was a dog, her hackles would be raised. It was obvious that Hank's comments hit a nerve. "Of course I am compared to you," she defended. "For a start, I don't spend every free moment I have working out. And secondly, you're male. Genetically, you're designed to be bigger and beefier."

I shook my head more vigorously than I usually did, allowing my hair to swing back and forth along my forehead. At one time the light contact would have irritated the hell out of me, but I'd grown used to it. "We didn't mean compared to us," I informed her, my thoughts turning to Bomber once more. What was it about this woman that she could bring back all that vulnerability?

"Who?" she asked. She appeared curious, which was to be expected, but there was something else in her expression. I could have sworn it was hope, but that didn't make sense. Before I could think too much about it, Hank answered her question and the odd expression changed to something even odder, given the discussion topic.

"The greatest woman to ever live," Hank said wistfully. His tone was shocking even to me. Sure, we'd all been prone to nostalgia where Bomber was concerned, but I'd never heard him talk about her like that. Clearly, it affected Kit as well, because she suddenly looked like she was on the verge of tears. "Her name was Stephanie Plum," Hank added, also watching Kit carefully. I'd have to ask his opinion later. Add it to the list.

Kit swallowed hard before asking her next question, and although she tried to hide it, I could tell she was emotional. How could talking about a woman she'd never had the pleasure of meeting cause such reactions?

"She worked here?" Kit enquired, attempting to sound casual.

"Somewhat," I confirmed, not willing to give away too much information at this point. I was still wary of why she would want to work in such a testosterone fuelled environment. I'd have given a smidge more detail, just to see what she did with it, but Tank's sharp whistle rent the air at that moment, forcing me to transfer my attention to the second in command.

"We just got a lead on a high end bond," Tank announced. "He's not likely to go down without a fight, so I need all available hands. Hal, Mal, Aaron, Darren, Hank, Cal and Kit, you'll stay behind and man the fort, everyone else, the details are already in your inboxes, buddy up and move out."

There was a flurry of motion as men moved to follow orders and I returned my attention to Kit, who was peering intently through the crowd toward the stairwell. Following her gaze, I spotted nothing out of the ordinary, just Ranger leading a mass of men through the doorway. Probably, she was just caught up in the moment and seeing the men move so swiftly was strange to her.

Mentally shrugging, I tugged on her elbow, unable to suppress the small smile that tugged on my lips when she spin right around.

"Kit, it's time for you to learn the ropes," I informed her, using the elbow still in my grasp to guide her toward the now almost vacant monitors station. "These screens monitor every properly under our security," I explained with a sweeping hand gesture that took in the twenty odd screens on the wall. "Our job for the rest of the morning, or until our relief gets in, whichever comes first, is to keep an eye on them all."

"What if something happens on one of the screens?" She asked. I didn't know whether her curiosity was a healthy willingness to learn, or if I should be careful how much I told her in case she somehow found a way to use the information to bring about the downfall of the company.

The contrast of her apparent lack of defence and firearm ability and her current, worrying displays of curiosity were certainly screwing with my brain today. On the one hand, I knew she would never have made it past the screening process if she was untrustworthy. But on the other, there was just something about her that made me want to look deeper than she was showing me. It was almost like my brain knew something but wasn't going to clue me in as to what it was.

I explained the protocol of getting a team on the scene, pinpointing the simple process of clicking the tracker dot and the communication being transferred automatically to the headset I had yet to give her.

Naturally, she asked after the tech. _Because she wanted to get her hands on the integral part of out system?_ I had to get my head around this woman before I did something I'd regret.

"I don't have a headset," she pointed out.

"Right here," Mal announced. Always quick off the mark, he'd already swept her hair out of the way and was hooking the ear piece over the shell of her ear by the time I'd taken a breath to explain. "Don't worry too much about it, though," he'd said before I managed to find words. "It's not like you'll be witnessing anything major, like a-."

"Don't say it," I warned, my mouth finally catching up. Mal was obsessed with the supernatural – zombies in particular – and felt the need to mention the possibility of their occurrence at every opportunity at every opportunity. He'd been warned about it already, which is more than most would have gotten, but since he was here as some sort of favour to Junior, and Junior had put his neck on the chopping block to save the kid's ass, he was still here. We were all under strict instructions to send him straight to Tank if he even uttered the name of a fictional being. "You know you'll be out of here in a flash if you even utter the word I know you want to say," I reminded him.

Clearly confused, Kit turned her head, looking back and forth between us, as though she were looking for answers to questions she hadn't voiced. "What word?" She finally questioned.

"It starts with 'z'," Mal said dejectedly, removing his feet from the desk and fixing his gaze on the monitors, suitably chastised.

Kit's brows furrowed a moment before her expression cleared with apparent understanding. "Ohhh," she said, drawing the sound out. "The apocalypse thing. Gotcha." She, too, turned her attention to the screens, curiosity satisfied for the moment, and I followed suit. We sat in silence for a few minutes until Kit said, "I thought you mean car bombings or gang shoot outs."

Her tone was casual, and I guess it could possibly be a natural assumption, but something about the way she said it, perhaps even the mere fact that _she_ said it, had my head jerking around to stare at her. She glanced toward me briefl, but kept her gaze on the screens for the most part.

"What?" she asked defensively.

"Why did you say car bombings?" I asked curiously. Was it possible that she knew Rangeman's history with Stephanie Plum and her propensity for exploding cars? Was she trying to tell me something?

Kit shrugged, fiddling with the bandage on her wrist. "It was the first thing that came to mind," she admitted, an almost pained expression creasing her forehead as she stared resolutely at the screens.

Odd, that car bombings should be her first thought when regarding what she might witness on a security feed. I'd have thought murder or burglary might be the first. I didn't get time to mull it over, though, because at that moment, Bobby burst through the stairwell door, a pleasant expression on his face. He leaned over the edge of the monitor wall, looking down at us, but his attention was more on Kit than Mal or me.

"Hey, Kit," he greeted. _How could he be so friendly with her when I was trying to figure out if she was a spy or not?_ "How's your wrist?"

The question caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting it. I wasn't used to Bobby asking after people's injuries. Usually he was barking at guys to stop testing the limits and settle the hell down. I found myself staring at Bobby, slack jawed, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Kit lift her wrist, except she didn't look like Kit anymore. In the slanted view I had of her she had morphed and it was so utterly shocking that I suddenly knew what my brain had been withholding for days.

"Bobby," I said, standing abruptly from my chair. I was sure my eyes were wild as my gaze travelled between the woman and the rest of the office. "I need you to cover us for a bit."

I didn't bother waiting for him to answer, just wrenched Kit up by the same elbow I'd used earlier and dragged her across the comm. floor to bathroom. Uncaring of who saw, I pushed her inside and followed her in, locking the door behind me.

"What the hell?" she demanded, slapping me in the shoulder before I turned around to face her. "You can't just drag a girl into the toilet with you! It's gross! It's pretty much sexual harassment! What are the guys out there going to thi-."

"You're not Kit Danger," I interrupted her, before she managed to work up enough volume to draw extra attention. I turned slowly to face her, noting that she was as slack jawed as I had felt just a few moments ago at the monitors station.

"What... what makes you say that?" she asked hesitantly.

"You're Stephanie Plum," I stated firmly.

"Uhhh..."

* * *

_I'm with Steph on this one. This chapter was such a whirl wind! (It probably would have been out twelve to twenty four hours ago had I not had an epic rehearsal last night) But there you go!_


	18. Chapter 17

_Weekend number one of the BICC Theatre Restaurant is officially over, and it was such a success that I decided to update! YAY! Thanks to everyone who consistently reviews, I may not reply to all of them, but just know that each one makes me smile, and smiling leads to more writing. And more writing leads to more updates, which leads to more reviews and so the circle goes on._

**Chapter 17**

I was just about to answer Bobby's politely concerned and completely normal question when Cal abruptly stood from his chair, his body radiating waves of tension. He'd been watchful and prying all morning, studying each subtle move I made, as well as every syllable that left my mouth like he was waiting for some cue. Now, it appeared, his cue had been given.

"Bobby," he said urgently, his eyes wide and scary looking. His gaze moved restlessly between Bobby and myself, even glancing past me to Mal at least once. "I need you to cover us for a bit," he announced, and the next thing I knew he had me by the elbow – what was with the guys and grabbing me by the arm today? – and was dragging me across the almost empty floor. It was a good thing there was practically no one here, otherwise I would, yet again, be the subject of a rumour mill. The Rangeman guys weren't quite as ruthless as the burg grapevine, especially since it didn't end in my mother calling to reprimand me, but they definitely had speed on their side. I mean, look at how quickly everyone knew my name.

It wasn't until Cal had pushed me into the bathroom and was closing and locking the door behind us that I found my voice. "What the hell!?" I demanded, hitting him as hard as I could in the shoulder, which of course only served to jar my injured wrist. I lowered my arm to my side, clenching and unclenching my fist in an effort to ease the renewed pain radiating up my arm. "You can't just drag a girl into the toilet with you!" I informed him rather loudly, working up a full head of steam. "It's practically sexual harassment! What are the guys out there going to th-."

"You're not Kit Danger," he quietly interrupted, still facing the door.

I gulped, fear paralysing me as he slowly turned to face me. My mouth hung open for a long moment as we just stared into each other's eyes. Finally, I swallowed hard and managed to stutter, "What... what makes you say that?"

"You're Stephanie Plum," he stated firmly, maintain steady eye contact, as if he was challenging me to say otherwise.

"Uhhh..." I uhhhed, allowing my mouth to make a noise of uncertainty while my brain tried to catch up. _Had he really just said what I thought he said?_

"Don't deny it, Bomber," he said. "I know it's you." When I continued to stare blankly at him, trying to adjust to having been called Bomber again after so long, he added, "Isn't it?"

It wasn't the question, but the way his eyes softened briefly, revealing just a sliver of the vulnerability he usually kept deep inside that caused me to snap out of my stupor and nod affirmatively.

"Good," he said briskly, giving a sharp nod of his own. "I think..." He stared down at the tiled floor for a moment, his brows seeming to furrow in what could have been confusion. "It's good that you're alive, is what I mean," he said, a strange quality tinting his words.

"Were you worried I was..." I couldn't finish the sentence; wasn't able to utter the words we were probably both thinking.

"Why else would Ranger have ordered us to quit searching all those years ago?" he questioned, raising his gaze to me once more. The hurt and sadness that I found there tugged at my heartstrings. "We figured he'd found you, but you were... ya know... Most of us resigned ourselves to the fact that you wouldn't – couldn't – return."

"You just accepted Ranger's order without solid proof? Without that closure of knowing exactly what happened?" I asked, a lump forming in my throat as I thought of them all grieving me. A wave of self-hatred washed over me as I once again realised how selfish I'd been in leaving. I should have done as Tank suggested down in Mexico and come to the Rangemen for help, but the pain and sorrow I'd been suffering back then, coupled with the agony that came with the effort of hiding it all inside and putting on a brave face, clouded my judgement and I'd acted impulsively. "I'm so, so sorry," I whispered, the words coming out gluggy as I tried to hold back the emotion I was feeling. If we weren't careful, I was going to start crying.

"Hey," Cal said, lifting my face with a single finger under my chin so that I was forced to meet his gaze once more. "What matters is that you're back now," he informed me in a tone that was way more understanding than I could have imagined.

I was so confused between the almost simmering anger he'd displayed right before pulling me in here and the sincerity he was now showing me that I almost laughed. I didn't though, because if I started, I'd probably never stop and he'd be forced to take me to the funny farm and have me committed.

"So, Kit Danger, huh?" he asked, a small smile tugging his lips, obviously mocking my alias.

I let out a relieved sigh, grateful for the mood shift. "That one's on Marie," I informed him. "She chose it, not me."

A flicker of recognition passed over his features. "Marie?" he asked. "Tank's sister?" I nodded confirmation, choosing to stay silent for once in my life. "So Tank knows." It wasn't a question this time, but a statement of fact, because apparently I had no way of knowing Marie if not through her overly large and intimidating brother. "Which mean Ranger does too, right?" he added.

_You'd think so,_ I thought to myself, gnawing my bottom lip and avoiding his gaze as I started absently plucking at the edge of my bandage again.

"Shut up," he said incredulously, sounding very much like a fourteen year old girl. "But you had your interview with him! He knows everything, how could he not realise it was you?"

"You only just noticed," I pointed out defensively, feeling increasingly comfortable with Cal knowing, since he didn't appear to be holding a grudge against me.

Cal gave me an almost deadpan expression. "But Ranger never misses a thing," he said. "A guy can't pass wind in the company without Ranger knowing it. How can he not know it's you?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "But he doesn't."

"Wow..." Cal breathed. "Am I the first?"

"Second," I replied. "Bobby figured it out two days ago."

"But Bobby was at a conference and only got back two days ago," Cal said, his expression dropping.

I shrugged again. "You win some, you lose some."

He shook his head, looking amazed. "Lester's gonna go ape shit when he realised that you're you," he informed me.

"What's with Lester these days, anyway?" I enquired, seizing on the opportunity to ask after the guy who used to put the 'merry' in Merry Men.

"That is a lengthy and rather sordid tale that should probably not be told in the bathroom while people are out there wondering what on earth we're up to," Cal responded, glancing around as if he'd only just realised where we were. "And I assume the story of why and how you became Kit Danger is also too long for a bathroom telling."

"Indeed," I agreed.

"Are you free tonight?" he asked, his hand on the slide lock, ready to open the door. "We could grab a pizza and swap stories?"

"I'm actually having dinner with Bobby tonight," I explained. "But I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you tagged along."

"Dinner with Bobby?" he questioned, waggling his eyebrows. "Does his wife know?"

My mouth hung open as he unlocked the door but did not open it yet. "Wife?" I gasped.

"You didn't know?" He let out a small chuckled, finally opening the door, but before I could grill him for details he was gone, leaving me standing in the middle of the empty bathroom, all alone.

I took a moment to compose myself before also exiting and making my way back over to the monitor station. Cal had returned to the seat on the end that he'd occupied before his sudden realisation and Bobby was two seats down, apparently having forced Mal to moved down one so that the spare chair was between Bobby and Cal. It seemed obvious that they wanted me to sit between them, and with no other options, I obliged, sliding as elegantly as I could into the seat (I had to keep up my Kit Danger persona, after all) before reeling back my left hand and punching Bobby in the arm. It hurt, but not as much as hitting Cal with the right had.

"What as that for?" he complained.

"You didn't tell me you had a wife," I accused.

He frowned slightly when he replied, "I didn't think it mattered to you."

"Woah, woah, woah," Male interrupted, hands splayed toward us in a 'hold on a minute' gesture. "Kit is a classy lady, she doesn't do affairs with married men, bro."

"Mal's right," Cal agreed, a hint of a smile in his voice. "I've been working with her daily in the gun range and she doesn't strike me as the kind to meddle with other people's property."

"I'm not other people's property," Bobby protested.

"Does Ashley feel the same way?" Cal asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair in order to watch Bobby squirm. "Seems to me that that ring you wear on your finger when you're not at work means that you're hers. That says property to me."

"Okay, fine, I belong to Ash. What does that have to do with anything?" Bobby questioned.

"Dude, isn't it obvious?" Mal said, leaning forward. "You're sweet on our girl here, which is leading you to be unfaithful to the woman you already have and seduce Kit. That's not cool, man."

Bobby shook his head, casting a glare at the three of us. He, Cal and I knew that the seduction view that Mal had taken up was grossly off base, but that didn't make it any less funny. Mind you, I was still reeling from the fact that he had a wife. How long had he been with her? What was she like? It was like hearing about Hal all over again. I almost gasped aloud at that thought. Did Bobby have kids too? I needed to start making a list of questions I needed to ask the guys that already knew the real me, and I needed to sit them down and ask them all one after another until I had all the answers to satisfy my curiosity.

An hour later, I was just hunkering down for the long haul when Cal glanced at his watch, then across me to Bobby and Mal. Bobby glanced at his watch as well and stood abruptly, tapping me on the shoulder and hiking a thumb in the direction of the break room. The message was clear; he wanted me to come with him. Cal gave me a little shove and a look I couldn't even begin to interpret and I was on my way. There was no denying that they were up to something, but I wasn't likely to figure out what it was by just sitting there. It appeared they wanted to include me in it and after the tenuous grounds I'd started on, I wasn't going to stuff up the rapport I had going by refusing their invitation.

We were in the break room no longer than thirty seconds Bobby pulled a laptop from one of the cupboards in the kitchenette and set it on the table farthest from the doorway so that we were out of sight.

"What's going on?" I asked, able to hold my curiosity in any longer.

"You'll see," Cal assured me, sliding into the seat on Bobby's other side. I could tell he was excited about something, which probably had to do with why we were leaving one guy on monitors when I was pretty sure protocol was a minimum of two people on at all times. Cal leaned over Bobby's shoulder, peering at whatever he was doing on the screen. "Do you have the cords to set it up on the big screen?" he asked, nodding toward the flat screen television attached to the wall. "I really think we need a better view of this."

"I'll text Hank and get him to bring them in," Bobby replied, tapping at the keys a bit more before whipping out his phone. "There's no way he'd wanna miss this, anyway."

"Seriously, you guys," I said shifting my chair so that I could see the laptop screen as well. "You've gotta fill me in on whatever is going on."

Cal looked over at me, a grin that I wouldn't have thought possible this morning spreading across his face, bringing a brilliant twinkle to his eyes that I hadn't seen since I'd been back. "The zombie apocalypse is coming," he whispered conspiratorially, running a hand through his hair to get it off his face.

"I thought we weren't allowed to mention zombies in the building?" I pointed out, recalling Tanks words on my first day and also Cal's warning earlier today. It seemed to me like he should remember something like that. Especially since it happened just before he realised that I was really me.

"Mal's not allowed," Bobby said by way of explanation, still tapping away at keys, bringing up numerous security feeds. I noted that one in particular was from the comm. floor, displaying the monitor station where Mal sat all alone, his feet once more propped on the desk. "For the rest of us it's just frowned upon, because it encourages Mal's behaviour."

"Right," I said slowly, still not following what was going on. "But what exactly is going to happen?"

Cal pushed his chair back and moved to the coffee machine on the bench, pulling down three cups and starting to fill them. "Ever heard of a zombie walk?" I shook my head, no. "Neither had we until Junior explained it to us. Apparently every year a massive group of people dress up like zombies and walk through town, not that I've ever seen it happen. They must be ninja zombies or something. Anyway, when we heard about it, it gave us an idea of how to haze Mal properly."

"Haze?"

"Yeah," Bobby said, pausing in his work. "You know, pranks you pull on the new guy? We tried a bunch of stuff on Mal but it didn't work. He was too far left of centre for our usual repertoire."

"Exactly," Cal agreed, returning to the table with three cups of coffee. "But now we've got him."

I shook my head, still lost. "I don't understand."

"There was no emergency this morning," Cal explained. "Tank and everyone else who left have spent the last hour and a half getting zombified so that we can play the ultimate prank on Mal."

"And Ranger was okay with the plan?" I asked, confusion coursing through me. Ranger had never seemed like the prankster sort, and given that taking all the men off the floor was possibly putting his company at risk I would think that he would be against the hazing plan. "How did you manage to get him involved?"

"What do you mean, 'get him involved'?" Bobby asked.

"He was leading men down the stairwell," I said, recalling the tingles I'd felt. "He's involved isn't he?"

"Not that I'm aware," Cal said, scraping his hand through his hair again. It was odd to watch. In my head, Cal was still the bald guy with the tattoo that intimidated all no matter what, so every time I saw him I was shocked by the sudden appearance of hair on his head.

Hank entered the room at that point, and, having heard the last part of the conversation, decided to answer my question. "Tank convinced him to leave the building to make it look like a true emergency, other than that, the boss has no part in this."

"Oh," I uttered, unsure if I was disappointed in his lack of involvement, or relieved that my assumptions of him were still true. This really was the most confusing situation I had ever been in, and I'd delved straight into a foreign country that spoke a language I'd never even attempted to learn, deciding to teach English to the kids who lived there.

* * *

_Who's next to make the Kit Connection? _


	19. Chapter 18

_I apologise for the lapse in updates. Between exhaustion from work and Theatre Restaurants (which finished last night, thank God. Now I can go back to sleeping), and I was reading a heap more than I have been recently. Then on top of that my sister and niece came to stay for a week, so the first time I touched my laptop this week was this morning when I started typing up the chapter I started last week. _

**Chapter 18**

_Mal's POV_

There was something about Kit that was giving me odd feelings. Not ominous or anything life threatening like that. Just... odd. Maybe it was just that she was a woman, and there's never been a female on staff that I knew of, but some of the old guys sure were acting strange toward her. I didn't know what to think of her, what with the different reactions around me. It was like she was some sort of supernatural being that caused pandemonium wherever she went. Trouble was, thought, I couldn't pin point what being she could be. I needed my Encyclopaedia of the Paranormal, but that was at home. Junior would kill me if I jeopardised the last chance he'd someone managed to get for me by even attempting to bring any of that sort of thing into the building. He checked my car daily to make sure.

I guess I'd just have to puzzle it over in my head until tonight.

Bobby seemed to be buddying up to her, even going so far as to ask her on a dinner date, despite the fact that by all accounts he'd been happily married for something like ten years. That was suspicious behaviour for him, but not necessarily his fault. Kit could be casting some kind of mojo ober him to lure him into her trap and devour him, or his soul... life's blood? Something.

Cal seemed to be alright with her at first, probably under some kind of spell. He wasn't enamoured by her presence, but he wasn't opposed to it either. Until this morning, that is, when he went pawing through her stuff and was outwardly suspicious of her intentions when they first joined me on monitors.

Then Bobby had arrived, all pleasant and seductive as usual, and Cal sort of snapped. I was fully expecting him to, like, throttle her of plug her with a few bullets or something when he dragged her away, but when they returned he'd changed his tune once again. The scowl that had creased he flaming skull tattoo had been replaced with an odd – there's that word again – sort of smiling twinkle.

Maybe she was a succubus. That could explain these signs... The irresistible allure, the other worldly good looks, the way she exuded sex so effortlessly... Her entire genetic make-up was designed for seducing men and sucking down their life force.

But damn if she didn't make me want to offer up my own.

Cal suddenly disappeared, dragging Kit with him and I could only assumed she'd worked some kind of mind mojo on him, because they went straight to the bathroom and everyone knew that there was only one think a man and woman did in a bathroom together. Sex. Which would mean Cal was being drained.

Frantically, I tried to recall more information about succubi, but the theories were so vast that I had no way of knowing what was true and what was myth. If Cal gave up his pleasure seed – the male life force – would he be under her enthral completely? Essentially her slave so that she could order her nourishment whenever she wanted, like a human fast food menu? Or would he die? It was possible that if Kit was unable to control her hunger Cal would be forced to offer up every last drop until there was nothing left to keep him alive.

I was torn between allowing Cal to take one for the team, and pounding on the bathroom door in an effort to get her to stop.

Just as my worry was reaching uncontrollable heights, Cal stepped out, making his way back over to us with a smile I'd never before seen on his face. He might be lost to Kit's succubas pull, but at least he was still alive.

A few moments later, Kit returned as well, settling herself between Cal and Bobby and promptly punching the latter in the arm. When he asked what the violence was for she accused him of not disclosing the fact that he was married, which I totally understood if she was a regular, run of the mill, human female, but why would it matter to a succubus? Unless the presence of a wife meant that his life force was weakened or something...

I really needed my encyclopaedia right now, but in the meantime, I had to make it appear like I wasn't onto her, so I started defending her honour like she was a normal woman.

Eventually, silence reigned the way it usually did on monitor shifts and I'd managed to just about put the thoughts of Kit being a dangerous predator from my head when Bobby stood and lead Kit away, heading to the break room. My suspicious were sky high again and I was about to confront Cal to see if I could get some kind of confirmation of Kit's species when he, too, stood and headed in the direction the others had gone.

This did not bode well.

I was alone at the monitors, which meant I couldn't follow him and rescue my co-workers from the paranormal predator who was probably in the process of molesting them both as I sat here.

Dividing my attention equally between the break room doorway and the screens in front of me, I was constantly scanning my periphery, hoping one of the other men that had been left behind would appear so I could get them to cover monitors for me while I saved Cal and Bobby from the succubus. I was so distracted that it took me longer than I care to admit to notice the zombies staggering into view on Monitor C.

FUCKING ZOMBIES!

I now had a zombie apocalypse to deal with on top of the succubus sucking the life out of two men down the hall. And I was alone on monitors! As if my day couldn't get any worse.

I decided that the safety of the world and the company was more important than keeping an eye out for burglars and graffiti artists. First order of business was to incapacitate Kit and save Bobby and Cal. Then with their help – provided they hadn't been severely weakened by their experience with Kit – I'd put my apocalypse plan into action and save as many innocent lives as I could.

No sooner had I lifted my ass from the seat, than Hal appeared from his cubicle. I was so relieved to see him that I was speechless for a moment, I knew I needed to get the ball rolling, but I couldn't make my voice work to ask for his help. Finally, I managed to open my mouth, only to be cut off by Hal's stern reprimand.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

Glancing around, I had to fumble for words once more. "I... the... Kit... um..."

Hal rolled his eyes, clearly frustrated with my inability to form a full sentence. _You'd be flustered too if you'd just witnessed the beginning of the end!_ "Who's on monitors?" he tried a different tactic, gesturing to the bank of screens I as attempting to flee.

"I am," I admitted dejectedly. "But, I..."

He shook his head in the no nonsense way that made me pity his kids. "No buts," he informed me. "What's the protocol?"

I was so sick of having protocol shoved down my throat at every turn! It was like nobody every broke a rule around here before me. Sighing, I replied. "At least one person on monitor duty at all times. But -."

"No. Buts," Hal bit out, pointing with a stiff finger to the chair I'd just vacated. "Sit there and do your job."

"Hal," I tried to gain his attention, gesturing to monitor C. "Just take a look at the freaking screens."

Hal looked vaguely irritated. "If there's a problem with the feed call Hank or Hector. They're the tech guys."

"I don't have a tech problem!" I implored. And then, because I had no other option, I said the sentence that would likely have me fired the moment Ranger and/or Tank returned to the building... if they returned... "I have a zombie problem."

A movement so jerky I briefly feared the usually mild mannered man was going to deck me one, exploded from Hal before he managed to tamp down on his anger. He leaned in close enough that I could feel his breath on my face as he seethed, "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, but only because I'd hate for Junior's grovelling to have been in vain. He put his neck on the line to get you this job, so you better drop the zombie business or I'll be forced to beat it out of your head."

With that, he turned on his heels and made his way from the control floor. He was right. I had to watch the monitors, or, on the off chance that Ranger and Tank did survive the apocalypse, I'd be in deep shit for leaving my post. I'd have to get in contact with the men on rounds and send them to take out the threat. If they would listen to me once I got the word zombie out... Maybe I should avoid that word at all costs.

As I typed my password into the fleet tracker program, I couldn't help but wonder how my life had turned into one big cluster fuck.

I followed the prompts on screen and was connected to Vince and Eric who were only three blocks from the outbreak. My heart sang the hallelujah chorus when they answered in fully formed words, rather than the typical moans and groans of zombies. _Calm down, Mal. Don't get too excited_. I still had to direct them to the site and guide them through the killing of zombies and detainment of the contamination without, at any point, saying the 'z' word.

"Yo," Vince's voice came through my ear piece as I glanced over my shoulder to check on the break room doorway.

Stealing a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I began, choosing my words carefully. "There's a situation three blocks north from you," I explained the reason for my call. "A... uh... gang outbreak at the jewellery store."

"How many?" Vince asked efficiently, choosing to ignore my word fumble, thank God.

I took a moment to quickly count the staggering figures on the screen. "Ten," I said, my eyes widening as I noticed a woman and young girl exiting the jewellery store. "Innocents are on the scene."

"We're on our way," Vince confirmed as I heard the engine gun in the background. "You better contact the PD." With that said, he hung up, leaving me with the sound of dead air. I hadn't even gotten a chance to warn or advise them. This could all go horribly wrong if we weren't careful.

To be on the safe side, I started going through the process to find the next closest team. It was very likely that Vince and Eric would need backup and the sooner it got there the better. I was put through to Hector and Kristoff this time, and went through the same explanation of the situation, adding that Vince and Eric were arriving on scene, but that they would definitely need backup. They agreed to head over and I managed to warn them to proceed with extreme caution before I was once again hung up on.

No sooner had Zero disconnected than a call came through on the headset. "Rangeman control," I said, pressing the button on the side of the ear piece to accept the call.

"Not funny, man," Vince announced loudly in my ear.

"What?" I asked confusion and panic seizing me simultaneously. All the breath left my chest and it felt like there was a vice being tightened around my heart. Is this what a heart attack feels like?

"You _know_ what," Vince seethed. "Fucking zombies? I don't know how you managed to get everyone on board with this prank, but you may as well start packing you shit, because the moment Ranger hears of this you'll be thrown bodily from building."

"I didn't... I wouldn't... I..." I couldn't find the words to convince him that I was in no way behind this apocalypse. It was REAL and he was accusing me of a prank?!

"Ten Rangemen dressed as zombies. How the fuck did you find ten guys with a big enough death wish to go along with your stupid fantasy land?" Vince questioned.

"I didn't, man," I managed to say with a little more conviction this time. The shock was giving way to anger now. "I had nothing to do with this! As far as I know they are real zombies, and that woman and child are in real danger!"

My eyes were glued to monitor c as I watched Eric open the driver side door of the SUV and step out. The sound of zombie moans filled my ears and before I could demand that he get back in the vehicle three zombies were upon him, dragging him down to the ground.

"Vince, close the door," I said urgently. "Lock yourself in the SUV and listen very closely."

"The joke's over," Vince replied, opening his own door and stepping out. "I'm taking names. You and all your buddies are gonna be fired faster than you can say apocalypse." He slammed the door shut behind himself but before he could move the massive, animated, unmistakable corpse of Tank loomed over him, slowly reaching for his neck.

"Tank?!" I heard Vince question incredulously. "Unbelievable! I can't believe you stooped so low after all that talk about... about..." Tank had grabbed Vince's neck and steadily dragging him closer, his mouth hanging open as saliva dripped down his gaunt face. "Tank? What are you... Mal, I... I think this is real..."

"That's what I was trying to tell you!" I yelled!

"Don't get angry at me!" Vince yelled back, leaning as far back from zombie Tank as he could to avoid the probably noxious breath being panted out at him. "Just tell me what to do!"

Finally, my expertise was being called upon, but I couldn't help but be narky at him. "I'm not supposed to talk about you know what," I reminded Vince.

"Just give me the fucking stats on these things so I know what I'm up against."

"Only way to kill it is to shoot it in the head. Or behead it. Don't bother with any other body part. Aim for the head and keep going until they're all dead. Hector and Zero are on their way to help."

"Wait..." Vince said, confusion and panic in his voice. "Kill? But... it's Tank."

"It's not Tank anymore, Vince," I assured him. "That is the mindless, brain eating corpse of our former second in command. If you want to survive you have to kill it and all the others like it. Once you see a the opportunity, book it. Don't hang around attempting to save innocents. That area is too far gone. We need to clear the surrounding suburbs and get them to a safe place."

"What sa-." His question was cut off as zombie Tank squeezed his neck harder, his mouth finally making contact. I could hear the sickly sound sucking drifting down the phone line.

"Kill the zombies, then we'll talk."

At that moment laughter reached my ears. It was surrounding me, in my ears, coming from the break room, the nearby cubicles. I blinked at the screen several times trying to understand what was going on. All the zombies were bent over double, their shoulders shaking.

"Man, they got you so good," Darren informed me through his own laughter, leaning on the edge of the monitor station.

* * *

_Poor Mal, a victim of his own obsession._


	20. Chapter 19

_I hope you all appreciate this chapter, because I made the conscious decision to NOT take the book I've been reading and have been completely drawn into on my commute today with the objective of finishing writing this chapter. And I did. _

**Chapter 19**

I was still chuckling over Mal's reaction to the Zombie prank the merry men had pulled when we slid into a booth at the back of Shorty's that evening. I'd been so worried that the men had lost all their happiness and spark for life in my absence that it was a relief to see that they still knew how to joke. It was especially refreshing to see Lester laughing it up with a couple of others. Of course, the fact that he was only sullen and surly in my presence had been cemented in my braid when he glanced over and immediately lost his joyful glow when he spotted me peaking around the cubicle wall to spy on him. It made my chest ache to even think about the look he'd given me.

"Hey," Bobby said, sounding worried as he laid his hands flat on the table between us. "What's with the sad eyes?"

"Nothing," I told him, giving myself a mental shake to get rid of the sombre mood that had fallen over me.

Cal shook his head. "It's not nothing," he said firmly. "Your rain cloud is showing. Fess up."

I gave a shrug to buy myself some time to think of an excuse. "I guess I'm just nervous about meeting Ashley," I finally managed.

After finding out that Bobby had been attached for years before I'd don my disappearing act and neglected to tell me, I'd spent the read of the day surreptitiously pestering him to let me meet her. Finally, around mid afternoon, he'd caved and agreed to call and have her meet us at Shorty's. She was due to arrive any minute now, and I admit I was a little nervous about meeting the woman who helped keep Bobby the man he was through all the less than stellar situations he endures in this line of business. But as you already know, that was not the reason for the 'sad eyes,' as Bobby put it.

"I know you're lying, Steph," he informed me with an air of authority. "and I will get to the bottom of whatever made your mood shift so swiftly. But in the meantime, we have questions."

"We?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him. "Don't you mean _Cal_? I answered all your questions the other night."

"I thought of more," Bobby shrugged. "Besides, you never did tell me your reasons for leaving in the first place."

"And I'm not going to tell you now," I assured him firmly, swallowing down the knot that never failed to form in my throat whenever I thought of it.

"Aww, come on!" Cal complained, leaning his elbows on the table. "That was first on my list!"

"Well pick something else," I suggested, the familiar feeling that I shouldn't have come back starting to creep up my spine. I didn't want to block these guys out and cut myself off from them – again – but I definitely was not ready to talk about the specific why's that lead to my decision to leave. Hell, in the last six years I'd only spoken of it once, ever.

_I had been in Mexico for six months, consistently avoiding thinking about the events back in Trenton. I was still followed by the shadow of its pain every minute of the day, but I'd found that by keeping busy I was able to push to the furthest corner of my mind. _

_After lunch, this particular day, I had been doing just that, working with a fellow volunteer to ensure all the surfaces in the mess hall we'd set up were wiped down. We'd just reached the end of the first row of long tables when Seraphina – another volunteer, whom I'd become good friends with in the short time since she'd joined our crusade – entered, a huge grin on her face._

_"Mark your calender, Steph," she instructed, merrily skipping down the aisle toward me. "Next weekend we are going to town and getting slosh-blob drunk."_

_"Slosh-blob?" I questioned, smiling. Sera was just a little over nineteen and constantly coming up with her own unique phrases. It's part of the reason she wasn't suited to the English teaching sector like I was, she'd confuse the kids too much with her bizarre turns of phrase. "What's the occasion?"_

_Sliding up onto the freshly wiped table, she informed me, "My favourite cousin is coming down to visit. And it has been too long since you last let your hair down."_

_"I don't want to drink," I told her, plopping down on the bench seat next to her feet, damp cloth and spray cleanser still in hand. In a way, drinking was how I'd ended up here in the first place. I was in no hurry to repeat my mistakes._

_Sera shrugged, tapping her heels together in that way she had of broadcasting her boundless energy. "Put it in anyway," she said. "I've still got four days to change your mind. And besides, even if you don't change your mind about the drinking, you can still come along. It'll do you some good. You work too hard. And my cousin would love to meet you, I'm sure."_

_Sighing, I pulled out my phone to add her even to the calendar so it would remind me. When I opened it and saw the day's date clearly displayed on the screen, however, all the breath whooshed out of my body. It was several minutes before I could breathe properly again, and by that time tears were running steadily down my face as everything I'd run away from came crashing into my mind. All my efforts to not think about it were useless and I found myself sprinting from the mess hall._

_Sera found me twenty minutes later, curled in a ball on my bed. The torrent of tears had given way to dry, sobbing cough and as she sat me up and pulled me into her for a hug, I could do nothing to resist. For all the mourning I had done in secret back in Trenton, this was the first time I'd allowed myself to cry over it. I'd been holding it in for too long._

_When Sera gently asked if I wanted to talk about what had upset me, my mouth started moving before I could stop it. Between the continuing sobs, I wove the sad tale of how I ended up down here in Mexico, finishing with simply, "And every day I wake up expecting to see Ranger standing over my bed, demanding I come back with him."_

_"Would you go with him if he did appear one day?" Sera asked, an odd expression on her face._

_"Yes," I responded immediately, but as thoughts of the past crowded my head once more, I collapsed backwards on the bed, heaving out a confused moan. "No... Maybe... I don't know. Things have always been so complicated between us."_

"Ahh, hell," Cal's voice broke the spell that had cast me back six years to the misery that was the root of all my current problems. "What did I say? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry. Please stop."

Hastily removing my fake glasses and wiping my face with the napkin Bobby silently held toward me, I realised that I had, in fact, been crying. _Way to show the guys how much you've grown mentally and emotionally, Steph_, I chastised myself as I blew my nose.

"Hey, what's going on here?" A woman's voice reached my ears just before her body arrived at the end of the table. "Did Bobby open his trap and offend you?" she asked, sliding into the booth beside me without even a hint of hesitation. "He has an excellent bedside manner, but he's still a man. And like all men, he's prone to sticking his foot in his mouth." She wrapped an arm around me in a quick – slightly awkward on my end – but comforting hug. "Just ignore him. It's what I do."

A shocked laugh escaped me as she released my shoulders. "You must be Ashley," I said as we both straightened. I couldn't help but smile when she beamed at me, showing a row of perfect pearly whites practically lighting up the room they were so bright.

"In the flesh," she confirmed. "Now quickly, tell me everything Bobby's told you about me so I can set the record straight."

"He hasn't told me anything," I said, taking in her brightly coloured blouse and complimentary maxi skirt before glancing over at her husband, a stark contrast with his dark skin and black on black uniform. This woman is certainly not what I'd expect, but I could see how they would fit together nicely.

"Blasphemy!" she exclaimed, startling me. "Don't you know you're supposed to rave about me?" she admonished Bobby. Her eyes dashed sideways a moment as though she'd only just noticed Cal. "Oh, hi Callum. I didn't realise you'd be joining us."

"_Callum?_" I questioned, louder than I perhaps should have. "Is that your actual name?" When a slight blush rose on Cal's cheeks I knew it was correct. "How did I not know that?"

Bobby grinned, clearly relieved that A) I'd distracted his wife from the fact that he hadn't been singing her praises, and B) I was no longer crying. "He thinks it's less intimidating," Bobby explained.

I rolled my eyes at Cal. "You can grow your hair to cover the most bad ass tattoo I've ever seen, but you can't handle being called a name that, by all accounts, only _you_ think sounds wussier?" He opened his mouth, probably to defend his decisions, but I cut him off. "Speaking of which," I said, holding up a single finger to ensure no one interrupted me. "Now that you know I'm me, are you going to tell me the real reason for the shaggy dog style hair?"

"I'll tell you about mine if you tell me about yours," Cal countered, gesturing to my hair.

Confused, I put a hand to my head, as if that was going to help me work out what Cal meant. I didn't feel anything amiss, so I asked, "What's wrong with my hair?"

"It's short. It's red. Then there's your eyes, the glasses, the tan... We need details."

"Oh," I uttered while Ashley shook her head at the men. "Okay," I agreed.

Cal gave a slight nod. "You know about Hal's kids?" he asked, rather than delve into the story of his hair. I nodded, rather than give vocal confirmation and encourage him to go further off topic. "Well, I first met Richie when he was about a year old," he started to explain.

"Wait, what?" I interrupted, confused on two levels. First, how this was relevant to his hair. And second, how it could have been that Cal was so late in meeting Hal's kid. They'd been partners for ages before I left, and I'd thought they were good friends. Surely Cal would have met the kid within a few weeks of him being born.

"What's confused you?" Bobby asked gently.

"Everything," I admitted, resisting the urge to tear my hair out. "What does this have to do with Cal's hair? And why did it take so long for him to meet Richie?"

"Cal was transferred to Miami for about two years not long after you left," Ashley explained patiently. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that she knew about that kind of thing. Bobby probably shared everything that went on at Rangeman with her to make up for the fact that there was a large portion of his life that he was legally not able to share with her. It made sense. "He came back for Hal's wedding, but couldn't manage any time off after that; things were really hectic down there apparently."

"Right," Cal agreed. "So while I knew that Eloise – that's Hal's wife – was pregnant, and I saw pictures of Richie when he was born, the first time I met him was when I returned to Trenton a couple months after his first birthday."

"I still don't see the connection to the fact that you have hair," I said bluntly, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning back against the padded bench seat I was sharing with Ashley.

"Richie freaked out when he saw the tattoo," Bobby announced, his grin returning. "Wouldn't stop crying. Then the same thing happened the next time. And the next. It was pretty funny."

From the way Cal was glaring at him, I would guess that he didn't agree with that statement. "Anyway," he took over. "Eventually, we figured that maybe it was the tattoo, so I wore a beanie the next time I went over and he was fine."

"So you grew your hair to cover it so that Richie wouldn't be scared," I deduced, a smaller version of the lump in my throat from earlier forming. "That's really sweet," I told him.

Cal shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "He's my best friend's son," he explained awkwardly. "I didn't want to traumatise the kid."

Ashley smiled and patted his hand. "Callum is just a big softie at heart, aren't you?"

He glared at her for the comment, but we all knew she was right. How many times had he offered me his hankie to wipe away some of the excess garbage and grime after one of my bombshell run ins with a skip?

"I'm sure he'd do the same for you if you ever had a baby," Ashley added, clearly wanting me to see the teddy bear side of the man across from us. All her comment did, though, was make me think of the possibilities.

What would my life be like if I'd made different decisions? At any point in my life. If I'd married Joe? If I'd followed my mother's numerous suggestions and taken a job at the button factory? If I'd convinced Ranger that he _could_ do relationships if he tried? If I hadn't drunk in excess that night...

Before I could work myself into a renewed state of misery, looking at all the failures in my life, Ashley's arm shot into the air, waving energetically. She was half turned around in her seat grinning at someone across the room. I mimicked her position, attempting to find who she might be beckoning over, when Cal called out, announcing who it was.

"Hank!"

It took me only another second to notice him, at which point I quickly spun back around to face Bobby, panic seizing my chest. I'd just been settling back into my own skin, comfortable with being able to be myself with the few people that knew who I really was, and now I had to snap back into my assumed identity. "Am I still Kit?" I asked Bobby, pulling a lock of hair forward to check that it was still red and shoving my glasses back on.

"You're still Kit," Bobby confirmed quietly as a beaming Hank approached the table. "Just relax and be yourself."

* * *

_Are we making progress yet?_


	21. Chapter 20

_Happy Sunday Everyone! I'd like to thank those who took the time and effort to review last chapter. Your insights and theories regarding this story help me to shape it into what it needs to be. Your insistent questions remind me of all the gaps that still need to be filled. Don't worry, I will get to them all before I wrap everything up._

**Chapter 20**

_Hank's POV_

I sat in my SUV in the back corner of the parking lot at Shorty's trying to work out if what I was about to do was the best option. What if I'd misjudged, and Bobby and Cal _hadn't_ made the same conclusion as I had when I saw the positive match from the facial recognition search Cal had left running on his computer. I'm sure he saw it, he returned to his cubicle after the prank was over and I'd made sure to leave it on the screen.

From the way he and Bobby had been bantering with her in the break room, I'd like to believe they both knew, but there was no way to know for sure I asked them, which I hadn't had a chance to do, being busy with the tech team at the community centre all afternoon as we marked out where the cameras and key pads would go. The electrician was coming early next week to update the wiring and would be laying the cables for the security systems we would then install when he was done.

But that was beside the point.

At the moment, I had two options. Option number one: wait until Cal got back to Rangeman later tonight and subtly work out if he knew before revealing that I did as well. Or, waltz into Shorty's and join their table uninvited, make hints all night and see which one of them realises first. The second option was bound to be more entertaining , and it meant that I wouldn't be sitting on my hands for hours waiting for Cal to return. Playing with them was far better than doing nothing.

Just as I made the decision to get out of the car and saunter inside, a familiar blue sedan pulled into a space near the entrance. I watched as Bobby's wife slid from behind the wheel and made her way inside. There was absolutely no way Bobby would have invited Ashley along to meet just any old co-worker, even if they were female, which meant they were definitely in the know.

I'd give them a few minutes to get through the introductions – if Steph hadn't already met the medic's wife – and start to relax before I rained on their parade.

#

Ashley was turned half way around in her seat when I pushed through the doors, probably eyeing off the specials board by the register. It took her only a second to glance in my direction and second more to recognise me, grin and wave me over.

Alerted by the sudden movement of the woman next to her, Steph turned abruptly, searching the crowd with fast, inefficient sweeps. She didn't have on the glasses that had been practically glued to her face every time I'd seen her in the office, obscuring her features just slightly, and her eyes appeared red rimmed, like she'd been crying. I would have wondered what that was about, but Cal called out to me at that moment and her eyes suddenly locked on me, widening in what might have been horror, before she spun back around and whispered frantically to Bobby while fixing her hair and returning those blasted glasses to her nose.

I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face, seeing her reaction. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that they knew who she really was.

This was going to be fun.

"Don't we usually wait until Friday before taking the new guy out to celebrate them surviving their first week at Rangeman?" I asked, pulling a chair up to the end of their booth and settling in.

"We thought we'd ease her into it with just a couple of us," Bobby responded effortlessly. "Get her used to the venue and atmosphere first, given the unusual circumstances. You have to admit, the dynamic is quite different once we're away from the office."

"Hey," Steph – or should I say Kit? – said sharply. "First Hank calls me a guy and now you call me unusual?" Is that really how you welcome people to your company?"

My grin grew wider as I recognised the patented Stephanie Plum tenacity shining through and wondered how I'd missed it at work. Probably she tried hard to suppress her usual knee jerk reactions in the building, knowing that too much of her usual self would give her away. And maybe it was more pronounced now because she was still working to shove herself back into her Kit Danger persona. It may have been a little mean to wait until she was just starting to wind down before thrusting my presence upon her, but she _had_ returned under a false identity, so it was as much her fault as it was mine.

"My apologies," I said, trying – and likely failing – to tone down my grin in order to appear more sincere. "I'm still getting used to having a female in our ranks again."

"Again..." Steph repeated quietly, biting her lower lip like she used to when she was trying to figure something out, I could tell she was putting it on, though. Steph could be a great actress when she put her mind to it – see all the distractions she'd successfully pulled off as exhibit A – but if you knew what to look for you could almost guarantee if she was lying or not.

"That's right," she said, a little now, appearing to have come to a realisation. "That other woman you mentioned this morning. You were going to tell me about her. What was her name again?"

"Stephanie Plum?" Ashley suggested questioningly, knowing full and well that we'd only ever hired one woman. And that really was _ever,_ because as far as I was concerned, Kit Danger did not count as another woman. "I haven't heard you guys talk about her in years. Not since..." She glanced at Steph, then back to Bobby, Cal and I, pretending to be unsure. At the very least this exercise of deception was giving us all a chance to practice our acting skills.

I turned a bemused look on Ash. "What are you doing here anyway?" I asked her, providing the out she'd been looking for to avoid the topic of Stephanie Plum.

"Date night," she informed me with a sigh and a slight eye roll. "Bobby's getting a bit lax, if you ask me. Since when is dinner with his work buddies considered a date?"

"I'll make it up to you next month," Bobby responded quickly. Was that a hint of a blush I saw on his cheeks? "Back to Stephanie Plum, what were you going to explain about her to Kit?"

From the way he phrased his question, being sure to mention both Stephanie and Kit, I could tell he was making an effort to keep them separate in his head, which amused me, making my grin grew wider once more. I was probably starting to look like a goofy little puppy, excited to be getting so much attention.

"Well," I began, resting my elbows on the table. "Kit here was easily spun around this morning and I wanted to call her delicate, but she insisted she wasn't. So I started comparing her to Steph," I paused and glanced around the table at their faces, seeing if they'd take my bait. I hadn't known Kit was Steph at the time, but it seemed like the perfect opportunity to hint that she was.

Cal and Bobby schooled their features into professionally blank stares – which was almost more telling than the way they could so easily relax around the woman claiming to be Kit Danger – while Ash busied herself by folding her napkin into a crane. Steph, on the other hand, was watching me carefully with an almost guarded expression. It's a good thing she thought I didn't know who she really was and was maintaining her Kit status, or I might get seriously hurt from the comments I was about to make. I glanced at the guys again and found I needed to amend my thought. I was definitely going to be in a world of hurt for my comments, even if they didn't realise that I knew who Kit really was. There was no way Cal, and especially Bobby were going to let me get away with what I had on the tip of my tongue.

"She was completely incompetent when it came to take downs," I announced, gazing down at the pile of napkins in the middle of the table. I didn't want it to look like I was baiting them all, even though I was.

"I thought you said she was the greatest woman to ever live?" Steph protested, reminding me of my earlier words.

I sent her the goofy grin that seemed to be constantly splitting my face. "She was," I agreed easily. "She had a thirst for life that no one else could ever match. She was the light of many of our lives. But she couldn't capture a skip to save her life."

"Oh," she uttered, casting a glance around the table to the other people with us. None of them were meeting my gaze anymore, probably afraid that if they did I would realise what they were trying to hide and go ape shit, which was a completely unfounded fear, since I wasn't known for my temper.

"Yeah," I continued. "Every time I saw her she was covered in some kind of grossness that belonged in the garbage. She had a knack for having rubbish thrown at her, and her skips never seemed to want to put clothes on, if you know what I mean." I waggled my eyebrows suggestively, deliberately giving off the wrong vibe for why her skips would have had an aversion to clothes in her presence.

"Are you saying she was... sexually persuasive?" Steph asked, aghast. I was definitely getting to her. There was practically steam coming from her ears from the heat generated by her annoyance. A few more strategic comments and she might snap, and then the secret would be out.

"I'm saying she wasn't averse to using her feminine wiles to persuade people to do as she wanted," I responded, receiving a kick to the shins under the table. And not from who you'd think. Cal and Bobby were both glaring at me with tensed jaws and fisted hands, but it was pointed to of Ashley's shoe that connected with my leg. I sent her a raised eyebrow, daring her to say something to defend the woman beside her.

Ash gasped, her eyes widening as they locked on mine. "You know, don't you?" she asked loudly and excitedly.

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. "Know what?"

She shook her head, narrowing her gaze in such a way that I suppose got the children in her class to follow her orders. "Don't play dumb with me, Henry," she insisted. "You've never spoken about Steph like that before. You hold her in the highest esteem, just like everyone else at Rangeman. There's only one reason I can think of that you would suddenly want to make such comments about her."

Steph, having recovered from her momentary shock, appeared to be on the same wave length as Ashley – as often happened when women got together – and finished her thought for her. "You were trying to get me to react to being called an incompetent slut so that I would reveal myself!" she accused, hitting the nail right on the head. "You bastard!"

I'd have been worried about her words, if it weren't for the fact that she was grinning as goofily as I thought I had been since I arrived. Relief washed over me as I recognised that she wasn't angry about what I'd suggested, and I found myself on my feet, dragging Ash from the booth and sliding in in her place, wrapping my arms around Steph's waist to draw her close for the bear hug I'd been longing to give her since I realised who she really was this morning.

"I didn't mean any of it," I whispered by her ear, unwilling to let her go.

"I know," she assured me, her voice thick with emotion. "But you had me worried for a bit. I thought maybe you hated me for leaving and that hatred had turned your view of my past sour."

"I was upset that you left," I informed her. "And when I found out that you'd returned and hadn't let me know I was disappointed, but I could never hate you. None of us could ever hate you."

* * *

_Well, that could have ended a lot worse. Don't you think?_


End file.
